Wither Pale

Rest not,
       in augmented passions
of the bleak.
            fade away in oblivion 
the mind does seek,
                   a blankness hollow to the brim,
                   when the memory dies and the pain is a whim.

How does one not embrace?
        the numb wind dance
on a naked face
as the winter scalpels the chill
at a pace at which you run against its gale.
 
To burn before or after wither pale?