Who is she?

What is she?

Shall I even say "she"?

Rid of the needle and ink she did.

Sitting on a chilled shelf

Collecting dust.

They must have heard her piercing scream

And saw the scar that was left,

When she sliced off the barcode 

That once sizzled on her skin

Amidst the branding

By them.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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