It.

So unable,
and cold,
It still clings to my soul.
It's so trying
and bold,
It's not stable,
so cold.
The numbers,
the letters,
the foreshadowing grey.
It precedes
the known sorrow
that will come not too late.
But this ennui, these thoughts,
the lack and despair.
Too dramatic
is such,
for not getting an A