"She was a little bird
Seemingly free from her cage
Of pain and mutilation."*

But they held her down,
Trapping her in her past.
They plucked her feathers out
One by one and bit by bit,
Until her wings were
Sorry excuses
And ****** stumps.
They reached her hands down her throat
And pulled out her voice:
The one she used to sing
Her sorrowful songs
And happy chirps with.
They took apart her torso
To reveal a beating ****** heart,
And they tore it to shreds
Leaving only icicles in place
Where it hurt to feel.
They reached to her face
And pulled out her longing eyes
Once big and beautiful
And left small black marbles in their place,
Allowing her to only see the beautiful world
As a monotonous void of has-beens.
They cut off her legs
The ones she used to dance and to run
And left behind twigs
Which left her unstable and wobbly;
Incapable and useless like a newborn without purpose.
They extracted her brain from her skull
Pulling out thoughts and dreams and imagination,
Forcing in demons and terrors
To keep her company during her lonely nights.

But then,
They tried to cut off her soul.
And they wrestled and fought,
They ****** and twisted,
But nothing budged.
It was as if
It was never there in the first place.
What they never knew
Was that a soul,
Being merely an embodiment of this little bird,
Contained barely a whisper of a being
Yet,
Was able to make or break the very core
Of one who could no longer feel.

Little did they know
As they tore her apart limb from limb
And took away everything she had ever known,
The very light which gave breath to her
Stopped
Shining
And left her.

Just like everybody else.