Brown leaves
October fading
into November
and the Breeze
becomes meaner;
its bites
are a little harder.

And out comes
a jacket
well worn
a little torn
on the right elbow.

But he's
the Meanest
garment I have.
He's filling
this empty cavern in my chest
with a sharp Darkness,
like broken bottles
pieces of glass
discarded in an alleyway.

Jacket around
my shoulders
and I lie
down
couch
bed
floor;
it doesn't matter.
And I am Stuck
trapped
in Thoughts
of inadequacy
of misery
of Darkness invading my soul.

The Jacket is grinning
mocking
laughing
He is pleased.
Because though
I wear a Jacket
I am still
Cold.