A small girl sat on a tiny chair,
Enclosed within a box, her world so small.
She strummed a guitar, a melody soft and low,
But her voice held no spark, a whisper, not a song.

Her left eye, dry and vacant, stared into the void,
While the right wept tears of blood, a silent, crimson tide.
She gazed at nothing, a hollow, empty stare,
Seeing only darkness, a world devoid of care.

Her smile, once sweet, a mask she wore...