So many years, I have been so many people; locked in a box made of glass; perhaps they were mirrors reflecting the needs of another, as my needs were of the lowest class;
In darkness I gaze at my hands while they motion the next victim to come unto me - Venus fly trap, a black widow spider perhaps, I would sting their hearts ever gracefully.
Dancing in circles, a child unloved; no welcoming, just receiving a fist. Dazed and confused, I continued the dark path and added yet another to my list.
They never know me, they haven't a care; lusting to touch me, abusing me everywhere... until the doll was only representative of despair.
My hair is now matted and my heart has no beat; My arms are scarred from the blades of the street.
The doll had no dollhouse no friendship or calling; just the chill of dark tears as she felt herself falling....
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