writing

She knew of a love that threaded string though her veins. One by one the silk of the thead became her skin, thick and strong. Change like the seasons came baring down with a winter wind hollowing through the dark clouds. The light in shades of gray.Her skin became weathered with time. Bleeding strands hung down, webbed and nested their way through.One by one they were pulled, games of pick up stixs were played to entertain the worlds of reason. She now stood like a scare crow with hay flowing from her chest. Falling like water, fast and viscous, rapids even. Lack of limbs, for she could not hold on to the pieces that made her whole.