Whimpers, woefully woven,
Can cry sheets of silk.

Made into a duvet, doomed,
Whispering chills in a silent din.

Icey cold, like daggers against skin,
Carving from the warmth it would once bring.

Solace, Silence and Serenity,
All seem to define this reality.

Imprisoned, within these four walls,
I weave my whimpers through tomorrow...

I will weave my whimpers,
But I will learn to sew.