The trees begin to remind me of the skeletons in my closet

The sky seems to reflect the melancholia in my mind

The wind feels as comforting as an ice bath in February

The ground is as hard as the ice around my heart

The snowflakes are as fragile as my voice when I talk about it...

The icicles imitate my tears as they fall and freeze simultaneously

The moon becomes the only source of light that I can stand

And
This glove takes the place of your warm, soft hand