Kings Landing
She was once ensnared by a magnetic green gaze
But murderous green like wildfire, he leaves her;
tormented,
impotent,
internally screaming.
She became a lily-pale creature of milk and dried blood like the rust and cream of a diseased rose
She knows no songs but the sickly strain of delusion
Yet she now dreams dreams of frightening sharpness
And the knife still twists within, but creates lights from white-hot embers slowly growing inside.
The blood flows through, curdling the milk a bitter, steely brown
She is a caged bird with psychic eyes
Beware the prisoner who bleeds inside.
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