‘Twas the night before Christmas,

While some children snuggled up tight in their bed, sleeping soundly.

Parents leaving a plate of milk and cookies for the jolly man himself.

But in reality,

Not everyone’s Christmas Eve was that great,

Somewhere out there, their are poor children laboring away to make toys,

At night,

They are shackled to the cold hard ground.

They sleep with one eye open, because they can’t know when it will be their time.

Their awfully thin,

So horrid that you will mistake them for a Halloween decoration.

Lips so chapped, they look like bread crumbs falling to the floor.

Hair matted to their forehead, because they haven’t showered their whole life.

But they are tied to this life of laboring away thinking that Santa will save them.

Santa,

Who uses slaves to bring joy to children.

But doesn’t he know, he’s shackled to these children, like how they are shackled to the floor.

He needs these children, so he’s ultimately tied to them.

Oh, these poor children, I’m so so sorry.