She was so little
Yet so much as oppression could be
Discovered in her ribs
Pressing ******* the heart
Revealing spark of distress
captured in the beams that cause happiness yet discontent.
Mentoring her own soul
The deep thoughts she wasn't able to bowl
The words that would neither roll
The body kept inside of 4 walls
Angry Phone calls
that came crawling in through her veins
Pleading dismissal
Knocking on the bruises that remain
It still rains
Thundering tears that remain
Unseen.....Unspoken
yet  sensored through damaged parades
She grew up hating herself better than anyone else
Connecting each thought with an elixir
Of confusion
Haunted her own mind better than the demons that lifted off the shelves
Reaching deep into her body
Fracturing the foundations
Remaining each fragment
Shattering the blizzard of joy and
Draining all its impetus
Only as figments of its magination
Her actions that coincide with the alchemist's heartless box of incarceration
but a souless body is one with no purpose

What was her life if she had no control?