The hole in the fabric of the blue, and white, and orange, and pink fabric

Is the entry to the edifice where her feet lay,
And the thorn that lay on the ground ever so silently
Makes it’s way to the gateway
Gently digging into her soft skin.

Red oozes out.
Her piercing scream rings in our ears.
The thorn nonchalantly hides within the fold of her feet,
Just below her toe.

She fumbles and stumbles,
And gently falls to the ground.
Gathering her knees to her breasts,
She rocks herself between the moss.
The pain slowly fades away.
Her life slowly fades away.
She lies in a pool of blood;
Darker where her feet are

The thorn remains there,
Below her toe,
Beneath her soft skin.
She lets out a lasts cry of pain,
Then drifts into an endless abyss

Two days later
She returns to the moss
But this time she has put on her shoes.
She is no longer
The girl with the striped socks.