The pale raised highways tracking up, down, across her arms make themselves permanent where once clear smooth parklands of skin lay, soft, waiting to be stroked lovingly with gentle hands.
But life took hold, bringing with it shiny metal machinery ready to create laneways, roads, freeways. Slicing through earth creating rivers of red flowing freely only to dry up and leave raw tracks, forming scarred roads that no one wants to travel upon.
These highways are an eyesore she lives with, which others avoid.
Perhaps if others reached out, protested and showed their love and support of the beautiful parklands before the machinery came in, these developments could have been avoided.