Brooding and misunderstood, draped in dark clothing with a bright red scarf. A splash of color for what no one understands. Walking in fear of sharp objects and not embracing children, the frustrated writer mulls the life that has been chosen. Not a carpenter, or a painter, but a writer of prose. A tortured soul that literally hungers for understanding!. Not able to relate to the normal world without painting drastic pictures of reality through the blood letting of words from a bitter pen. The poet loathes the existence that has been chosen. Not able to find joy, the red scarf the only emblem of another life, but no one can understand the symbolism, is it for cheer or Crimson for blood and want to commit suicide. Only another tortured soul can understand the pain a brooding dark poet feels.