The Last Night of December

Hands bundled inside beige wool Clutching the brown bag I bought you for your birthday The reason I came back after I ran away - To wrap your present A feeble attempt to atone I am sorry, please don't go. You button up the coat we chose in the sale Pull on the grey boots I found for you, The last pair left and they were in your size - At least some things work out I suppose. You look sad and deflated as if Someone with a pin pricked your balloon And hope came seeping out slowly As you try to cling onto insubstantial air. I clench my hand so tight it hurts More than I thought, more than it should; I look down and peel my fingers from my palm Revealing a sharp shiny pin.