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Words can be made by art, but art can not all ways be made by words alone.

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Tears in her face she cant keep her self form running. through the woods she runs with air filling her lungs; running form a fear that stood in her gut like a rock. gun shots herd from miles away still hold her fast. stumbling through the thicket she cant help but fight the flash backs that beckon in the back of her head. why run form some one you once knew an loved? ... "you mother ... you wore my ring ... itch" (gun shots flare) "now you will never... do that again" the smell of beer lifted anger from some one such as her father. " (gun shots ring as laughter rises for a man that now brings tears to his own eyes) "now were is that little b**ch... Lana were the F*** are you"... she slips in the mud now barefoot she picks her self up an stumbles to the waters edge. why this where to go witch way to go? she looks to her hands an feet now bleeding from the fall she tries to aid the open scares. she finds her self helpless to the cold dark night. gonk

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