I've fallen back on an old favourite today (sonnets). This one was based on a prompt from a few year's ago. I used Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare as a starting point, and this is what came out:
I can’t compare you to a winter’s night,
although you’re raging like a howling storm.
While shaking branches from the trees in spite,
you rail against this world with hate and scorn.
Sometimes too cold, these loveless earthly streets
will creep the frost that climbs inside your bones,
and lidless eyes and greasy, hollowed cheeks
are nothing now and all you’ve ever known.
I fear that winter’s tattooed on my skin;
its ugliness a loathed inheritance
of luckless living, desperation, sin.
And madness is my only self-defence.
I am the wrong that no one wants to right;
a tethered ghost, a lonely winter’s night.