On a canvas of indulgence, I see a warped body,
a young woman writhing in the agony of desire.
Her bewitching form bears the sharp scars of lust,
like barren soil yearning for the green of life.

Her eyes hold no trace of dreams,
only the etched lines of exhaustion.
In the mirror of existence, only shadows remain
happiness, a distant mirage, forever out of reach.

Her voice carries no laughter’s song,
just a river of sorrow woven with tears.
Silent stands nature, gazing at her,
but who has truly heard the whispers of her heart?

She floats in the nakedness of opulence,