I Write Dark Poetry

I was a toy for her maybe
Something to stare at.
I was no good for being real.
She could never be with me
Impossible she said
So I left
Then she could be with someone else.
I was the villain but she cut my hand off first.
Wait alone forever little doll ......
But I’m not a doll
Or anything to stare at.
I’m real.
And I was hurt.
Dolls stare blankly and accept things
I carry a thousand pounds of scars on my wounded back
And get up
And drag alone.