Red against grey, a broken omen, Boots sinking where no footsteps follow. The sleigh rusted, its engine still breathing, Snowflakes fall like dust on forgotten things. The chimneyless skyline looms tall, Boxes stacked for no one’s cheer. Santa smiles—his belt weighed down, Presents swapped for scraps of something heavier. A storm waits behind his beard, The reindeer long since fled. And the car hums low—a final passenger, Drifting off where the map runs out.