This Wasn't Supposed to Come Out Comical.

She wasn't much to me
She was a little thing, really
Skin and bones
Squeamish and overly emotional
Annoying with a tinge of horrible worthlessness
Easily broken with words and sticks

He wasn't much to her
He was a little thing, truthfully
Fat cheeks all rosy
Eyes glimmering with a gleam
Mine had lost as summer froze
Effortlessly broken down with a tug
That dreams are but dreams

It wasn't much to him
It was a insignificant thing, honestly
Thread bare and raggedy
Lost all its buttons and patched up 
With needle and thread, stuffing thinning
Days coming to rest
At the start of that terrible crash

That's what they were in the end,
She, he and it
That's all they were
Instead of
Mother, son, and friend. 

He wasn't anything to them
A nuisance, obviously 
Scruffy and dirty
Curving inwards and smallish, homely 
The stench of failure, of desperation
Lost his sight, to an old little tale
Of the blind boy in the alleyway, with nothing to spare 

All of them could have meant something
Anything at all
All of them could have done something
He didn't mean to fall
But the could haves are gone
The something doesn't help

Because in a clash of metal and flesh
They were all out for the count. 

I am not sure what I was to them
Because of the fact
That something must first be known
To be either loved or loathed 
Still, in the end
I was but a stranger
Someone to watch it all unfold
The story of a blind man
who simply crossed the road.