By Anonymous

I woke up with blood on my hands in a bright orange field. I think they were flowers. The smell of iron and platelets overtook what should have been the smell of a fresh landscape, the pollen, the cool breeze. These flowers have so many friends, so many close counterparts. All I wanted was one. One that could share my burden. One that could share a cry. One, that wouldn't betray me.

There's no point in weeping if there's no one around to share the tears with. Follow HER psychedelic and heart wrenching adventures in the first book in a long line of sad memories scribbled on bloody napkins.