Coat

Sometimes I wear this old coat,
It's thin, plenty of holes,
Smell I can't forget.
A terrible kind of coat.

I put it on when I'm a special kind of cold,
To the bone, to the soul,
Cold that makes my hands shake and my chest burst,
The coat brings no warmth.

Why do I wear it?
Habit probably,
Tried it on as a child,
Now it's a blanket I can't throw away.

I've used fire to fight off that cold,
But I can't seem to keep it going,
The cold creeps in,
The coat is my last resort.

The coat seems to work,
The cold subsides for a while,
Then the wind picks up,
I surrender.

Which will end first,
The cold?
The coat?
Or me?