There was once a brook splashing quietly along the banks dotted with weeping willows, and I was content to sit under their gentle bowers, draped in golden light sifting through their canopies filled with the song of blue birds. I was content, I say, to bask in it's spray, cool and refreshing on my cheeks, washing away my tears of anguish at life's lash, never desiring to stray beyond it's banks with my inelegant steps except where the footpaths were laid before me. Such a pleasant idyll, to have a bubbling brook that I could admire with longing of dreams from afar, renewing my strength by proximity. Laying amongst the reeds and weeds was my downfall-- how easily the words slipped from the brook in quiet whispers as my lifeblood ran in spidery traces, into the water and carried away. I am torn in twain, pain beyond imagining, my friend, the betrayer, why? I'd have given you the world if you had but asked, but instead you sent your cruelty by proxy, your agent to deliver death to my heart, another scar to adorn my arm among the others, one more burden to carry into my grave.