I am walking across a dark dead landscape.
The trees are spindly and the sky is black.
I am carrying a dark hole in my stomach.
Black ooze oozes forth from it like bile.
My hair is frozen like a sword's blade in the icy wind.
Black is black. Even white is a black, wet, pink,
plucked swan whose feet are sunk in sticky tar.
Love is pale belly lint stuck to a charred heart.