The winter inside me is colder
Than the season outside

The icicles of careless words pierces my heart
And lodges within like thorns

The biting cold of loneliness freezes my bones
A cold that emulates the chill of death itself

The thick fog of sorrow congeals in my throat
And I choke on words

The tempestuous squall inside
Contrasts my silence outside

The voice of sweet memories
Muffled by the muttering storm

Every ray of promise smothered by the stifling gale
Every rose of hope wilts in the bitter cold

The twisted flower of only fear prevails
And despair digs deep with its roots

The apple of love shall never blossom
And the fruits of hatred burgeons

In this winter there are no snowflakes or snowfigures
Neither mistletoes nor violets

No warm words or soft companies can thaw the frost
This winter shall never end