The skies are always gray it seems
Winter-bleak and dark
No sun to see for miles around
The skyline ever stark
Hopelessness has a cobwebby cling
A sticky sort of shroud
That wraps and traps and weighs me down
A dank and heavy cloud
Wound up like a spider’s prey
Feeling ever small
Shoulders hunched, spine curled in
How can one stand up tall?