Staining it to a dark stream

in a dark forest runs a white stream

in dark wood runs a stream splitting crystal beams

you and I, we use to sit near the stream

we would kneel near the nape of the bank

taking draughts together until clean inside

take handfuls and cleansing our outsides

and the purity of the water was never in doubt

sweet and cold and clear and...

habitable to agreeable organisms

In the dark wood I slew a deer

that day you found the carrion

you found the crows pulling sinew

you took the entrails, and out of spite

for you hate the natural order

for you loath my murderous spirit

you took them down to the banks

you threw them into the white

into the crystal splitting running

into a place upstream

devilish and deceitfully cryptic

Now no beautiful thing is borne

from the running clear, and not drinking

are all the beautiful ones once cleansed

by crystal split beams

the stream is as dark

as the stream falling from your head

spilling on to your shoulders

running black brown, your back down

I hate computers

I wrote something with all my heart.

but I lost it. And no longer have the energy to write it again.

I seem to have no energy. enough to breath and eat. maybe enough to lift my head.

there are bigger problems on the horizon.

Cause I've got to put something to something.

and I don't know how.