Pens in the Sea

vulcan

The prison she consents herself to is glorious, 

A metal hearse wheeling down to her doom.

Her legs' liquidity a dead weight,

Knees of jelly than bone.

She sits motionless,

Ignoring the cold fingers straightening her legs.

She feels disgusting,

The urge to kick so strong.

The frustration builds to a peak,

Each day the pitiful looks mold her fate.

They should have cast her out as proposed,

Not have the freak of nature eerily tracking their motions.

Their capability is flaunted,

They think she does not see.

The girl with a unresponsive brain,

Disconnected from the rest.

The bronze statue occasionally shakes,

The tumbril jolting over a crack.

Battered and bashed,

This piece of metal is Vulcan's last.