Anger is not constructive when it reaches this chilling nimbus. This anger radiates icy fingers from my heart and my whole body seems unable to warm itself.

Butterflies symbolise rebirth and hope. What hope? This faint fluttery hope? At such great price? What pearl? Oh give me a pearly winged butterfly to cup in my cold blue hands.

Yet the butterfly will not gather enough warmth to flutter its wings and fly. My hands are too cold. My anger too debilitating.