From out of the river of yeast which flowed down from the silver hill behind the round mountain the strawberry-blonde serpent lurked. Casting her spell on the poor frustrated masses she wove her tales of abuse and sorrow while shaking her tail-feather for the delight of many. Ignoring the stench of her not forgotten past she crept passed my barrier of sanity and inundated me with her woe. Falling prey to her sadistic ways I was overcome by her grief as I was sucked into her vortex of cutting and self-mutilation. “Hark” I cried