The clutch of winter’s cold hand chokes the air out of me just a little bit more every day. I gasp for air, but it is a lifeless, most un-sufficing sort of air. I don’t desire the oxygen, but I need it to survive. As I tread through the gray city streets the wind has a peculiar way of always flowing against me. The snow banks, by this time of year, are no longer white and pretty. No. They are *****, worn out, aching for their inevitable fate to remove them from this depressing city. But they know they still have many weeks before their suffering ends. I feel a connection with them, knowing that someday my time will come.
However, long before my inevitable death, many new summer times will spring forth much life. Soon, the air will hold life again. The wind will suddenly shift away from my face, the sun will shine a little brighter, and the poor snow banks will be taken out of their misery and replaced with green grass. I only know this because it happens every year, and I have no reason to believe this year should be any different. It is this knowledge that carries me through the grind of winter. Don't worry, your gray days will pass.

Hearing of a song about a place that I didn't know,
In my head an idea of a poem it did sow,
All  the searches I could find of this I had no skill,
Was that people were dying there on Kinnoull Hill,

The beauty of the River Tay and of surrounding land,
The place to view is at the Tower, that's the very place to stand,
The craggy face, the steep sheer drop, if you're mentally ill,
Don't dare venture to the top, the top of Kinnoull Hill,

Of all the places that they choose, they chose this place to die,
Shouting out I love you was the last thing that they cry,
Deciding to end it all, a life that's had its fill,
Death was their last resting place, below Kinnoull Hill,

Not since the days when Jamie Foyers had once so proudly strode,
Now it's for the weary in desperation mode,
They have no need for knife or gun or even just a pill,
Their modus operandi was to climb up Kinnoull Hill,

Don't blame the victims for their death or of their state of mind,
Modern life is difficult with day to daily grind,
He was just a soldier his government trained him to ****,
The killing only stopped when he stepped off Kinnoull Hill.

I am tired.
Drained.
Weary.
and
Exhausted.

Please, let me sleep.