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The Worst GiftIt is my Jesus' birthday and I know not what to give I have fallen on hardened times No longer do I want to live My shop went out of business I just want to lie down and cry I am months behind in the rent I hope very soon I will die The bills continue to pile up like heavy snow falling outside Bill collectors are hounding me there is nowhere for me to hide The children are so miserable Their stomachs are very hungry I cant even afford the food let alone any Christmas tree There is not one present to give I am a failure and a bum I dread having to tell the kids That this year Santa cannot come I do have some life insurance The only thing with real value So if I want to give something there's only one thing left to do So I walk into my bedroom Slowly I turn to close the door Sit on my bed next to the stand Take the revolver from the drawer Just like my Jesus had to do over two thousand years ago Gave His life so others could live and I must do the same also So I said one last final prayer Realized there was no other way I pulled the trigger gave my life on that sorrowful Christmas Day This is not a true story. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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