Her eyes so deep,
Deep enough to lose yourself if you peep;
Millions of stories they behold,
Which always remain untold.

Dressed in red,
To impress in bed;
Unsterlized needles made her dread,
Underneath her body, she's dead.

Shredded in clothes,
Mending her sore wounds;
Covered in make up,
To mask her scars.

There she lied,
In the heartless man's lap;
Her identity hidden,
Between her legs.

She looked into the mirror,
Seeing the reflection of her lost soul,
A voice echoed softly,
"Why can't someone love me?"

Because she's a prostitute?