My loneliness always
showed in a singular
                                 season.

Winters failing is when
        the snows fell.

       It showed only my
                                footsteps.

Singular,
    no one,
            nothing beside me
            together at my side.

It was a deep imprint of how
             I felt, deep regret,
that no one imprinted on me.

I leave little holes of sorrow
            as tears sink lower
                             then me.

Winter is my dejection I often
            walk beside others cold
imprints to make it look like
           I'm not alone.

But reality is cold and I'll
always only see my footprints
                                  behind me.