Without a soul

My life is in a cold hearted routine one of which I am forced to do as others please,
Ones comparison of which would be that of a raggedy childs doll whose life consists of movement to the childs will.

If all life consists of a soul then I feel as though my soul is no longer with me,
Up and left due to the forcefulness of others,
Leaving behind a hollow corpse with movement, but alas no mind as to which one would control it.

Whilst ones mind may be gone ones memory may remain, constantly reminding the lifeless corpse as to which it takes asylum,
Of the simplicities it once took for granted.

This hollowed chambered vessel that we class as human is in constant reflection of the past when it was once deemed normal,
But alas that is all this soulless life, this fiend
May be capable of.

For you see this, this so called being does not feel the urge to rebel, take charge and claim its soul back.

Nay it shall never accomplish this, for you see it rests in its chambers, awaiting the day a miracle shall step forth and bless the beast with its once prized possession.

Its life.
Its soul.