"Jingle bells!" said the paranoiac mind. "Jingle bells jingle bells jingle bells! Make them jingle, all the way, what fun would it be if I rolled up and died in my own caustic grave!"
The manics, the depressives, the schizos, the borderlines, the anorexics and bulimics, all the little children that had strayed away from God, they had surrounded the sleigh that held their merry little bells, her pink quills shining in the acidic light, her arms reaching for the food that was given to the starving sheltered women who suffered from poisons. Venoms from the white snakes that lied astrewn in their cupboards, white as milk, the walls as blue as baby kitten eyes.
The women, named Blaze and Serenity, sat across from the dark green leather seats, their bodies plucked, open, raw, and bare. They were waiting for the festering hand of the doctor to come, to take them away in his bright holy office, to give them their labels, and to give them permission of whatever pills that should be swallowed by their apprehensive gullets.
The food was never good. But yet her mouth gaped. She starved, o how hungry was she! How hungry was her child from far off in the corners of the country, its apple shaped fists ready to grip her breasts and suck it dry. Her mammalian glands have never ceased for her. They continued to be leaking for the wide gaping O of children.
The croissant of turkey, lettuce, mustard and cheese, along with pineapples, melons, and macaroni salad, what a feast! Oh how hungry was she! The jingle bells ringed throughout the halls, as the nurses handed out gifts, encased in glistening skin, she wondered what she had, who was so considerate to send her anything.
Her daughter, as she sobbed her tourmaline eyes away, she was off with the father, the man she rejected, despised, sliced in two were they with the heart's dagger. Her heartbeats sounded faint with his voice, never louder, never echoing as Echo had been trapped inside a cave.
They handed out cake, so white, so pale like her face. Topped with velvet roses, the icing never melted in the heat of the bedlam, the fires of Hell.
She ate it, o how hungry was she! Her skin laced with cyanide icing, the waitressnurses had stood before her, asking her what next year would be like for her, if the treatment, the shock therapy, the insulin injections, the prying of their little white eyes. They jingled the jingle bells and said Christmas will come and go, but yet another day, will the paranoiacs, the manics, the depressives, the schizos, the borderlines, the anorexics and bulimics, will they suffer in their own eternal hell, purging, cutting, killing off their emotions. Amy had sat staring at the listless face of her child and said,
"Joy, soon you will meet me again. And despite my mania, my depression, we will play until the sun rises in the sky once more again."
The windows were locked tight, along with the colorful pills that had strewn on the nurse's fingernails, and they closed the doors, and bid goodnight. The pink hedgehog, along with Blaze and Serenity, were strapped tight on their metal nests, the sun never shining in their fallen faces.