this, the dim-light winter brings-
uncertain angst? -between the ease-
hoisted placards for all to see
that neither laugh nor blithely sing.

smudged, it looks out through murky panes,
at reflections flickering in the rain
its fabric stitched, retorn, and sewn
and still would morph it’s blood and bone.

words turn away from darkened doors
quiet clomps on hardwood floors,
with off-slant rhythms felt before.

just awaiting light conceived
in charcoal darkness, that gives reprieve
with slightly onamatopoeic schemes that knock
and awake the patchwork echos here
but deadbolts keep out hope and fear.

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This was an attempt to describe the dark feeling of not being good enough. Loneliness, especially in winter, can propogate fear. Spend time in the sun!