The tree was lit, the fire glowed,
But something stirred beneath the snow.
No jingle bell, no sleigh in flight—
Just hollow moans in silent night.

Stockings hung with lifeless care,
A chill that curled around the stair.
No laughter here, no child’s delight,
Just shadowed forms that flinch from light.

The cookies crumbled on the tray,
The milk had curdled clean away.
And in the hearth, the flames did hiss—
As if to warn: “This Christmas missed.”

They came in robes of curling mist,
With lips unkissed and hands unclenched—
To haunt the joy that we pretend,
And beg for truths we never send.

So hang your tinsel, hum your song,
But know the ghosts have tagged along.
For every carol hides a cost…
This Christmas, count what you have lost.

🎄 Christmas is coming. Are you?
Everything about this feels wrong — and that’s exactly why it fits.
Joy has been commodified. Grief gets wrapped in tinsel.
The ghosts aren’t waiting for December this time.
They’re already here.

Occupy 2.5