Brrr

T'was harsh and full of loathing.
..biting wind frozen in crevices of warm face, setting expressions into a paralytic stupor.

'Tis spring they say. The kind of spring that waits for the annual thaw to uncover bodies long dead in the unapologetic cold.
Spring may have sprung, albeit in thoughts alone, for its icier than a glacier and if you think tears streaming down a face could leave track marks of molten warmth then know this that tears would simply fall down in silvery crinkles of frozen dew drops, making tiny noise as they hit the ground.

Set yourself ablaze then or find the nearest volcano and maybe that might bring some respite from feeling like a mummified ice cube.