The girl with spiders in her hair claimed her fingers were made of razors, and all the cuts and gashes, were simply just mistakes.

Tree branches smacked against her skin, cutting deep her soul deep within.

Red ribbons fell from her wrists in piles, decorating the darkened woods in ruby pleasure.

As the ribbons fell, she imagined them as ballerinas doing a private dance just for her on her pale scarred skin.

She's been there before, bleeding heavily up in her tree, all by herself where there was no one to blame.