A sickly mind,
Embraces a broken past,
Trying to hide,
Her prickly thorns,
Clinging to her.

Sprinting forth,
To uneven roads,
Running from wolves,
Gobbling at her long hair,
Feet carry her far away.

Tattered cloth hangs,
From empty tree branches,
Marking the journey she took,
From her sickly mind,
To her broken past.

Will someone help her?