Oddly at times like this,
I feel as
If I am only a doll,
To be bought and
played with, and then tossed away
Without a second thought,
Used and forgotten,
Sprawled out on a
Cold hard floor,
A means to an end,
and only your simple amusement,
Used
to Pass the time,
Soon enough,
I shall be to
old
To entrance,
But far to young to
die,
Forgiveness is something
I cannot offer as of yet,
And as the moths chew at my
Light Cloth skin,
I wonder
Why?
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