Death to her was something to see and ignore
She could care less if there was a dead corspe
Rotting in front of her porch
Or a suicide note laying on the street
Waiting to be read
Blood to her was just a color
The scent was like a whiff of dog food
The texture was nothing but liquid
She was clearly bored out of her mind
She needed something new besides of screams, begs,or even sobs
She's looking
