The cold creeps into my fingers;
it lingers and I shiver.

The ice pushes into my core;
I adore the sensation.

I can't feel my face,
or my toes, or my hands.
I don't understand why...

...my skin prickles,
the cold tickles,
as it moves in ripples.

It feels good.
This feeling.
I feel alive,
I can thrive.

The cold seems just that,
but it's old and familiar.
Like a friend
here to mend
the heat of pretend.