The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

A lady came in and said that her clothes were covered in blood, but there were no marks on her skin.

This picture is the other half of another picture.

Drawings can be broken in half, changed, colored, added red and black. No one would know what the other half held unless it was shown. Here is a woman whispering into the ear of a deer. It was drawn nearly two years ago. Outside of PS1 it smelled of blueberry danishes. Inside me I felt like blood. Outside me it looked like white flesh and a sketchbook.

The two drawings would fit together. For every drawing, what is on the opposite side, the back, underneath, torn out?

Why do we keep certain ones to ourselves, secret, whispers to a silent creature?

We save some for dessert. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.