She carries the luck of the opal,
and the red satchel.
Till now a mundane martyr
lost in oblivion.
She prays for mercy;
for the release of her visceral angst.
Her draconian hunger haunts her.
She yearns for peace.
He says she is a prodigy
but she is a paradox.
Will crimson cashmere
wash her melancholy?
I watch her beyond all misery
for she is the epitome of me.
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