Forgotten (b2)

I was his broken goddess in the rain    
Under the moon    
Under the stars -    
He, Mr. L, reminds me everyday.    
But when I look in the mirror    
I feel less and less the goddess he believed me to be    
   
It was worse before, the bruises    
On my temples    
On my body    
The scars on my wrist remain    
Stitches    
Apparently, I was a dead rag doll    
Thrown away to the stray cats of the night    
With piss and cigarette butts    
I have no identity, I was one with the smoke    
    
I was no goddess    
I was a nutcase electro-shocked to sanity    
(or they tried to)    
Or to insanity    
(i think they've succeeded)    
   
Mr. L said I only had my hospital clothes    
My "asylum uniform"    
And a monogrammed handkerchief,    
A white S.C. on midnight blue fabric    
- the star to the sky -    
When he found me    
He took to calling me Selene -    
His moon goddess    
   
I don't even have my memory    
I am nobody.    
   
This is a poem I "wrote" a year ago(I failed to check the exact date before editing), unearthed as I was checking my 20(!) draft poems. It says the title is 'b2'. Strange, I have no memory of writing this...and I have this strange feeling that this didn't come from my pen because some of the writing and the words are strange (to me now), but I THINK I know Mr. L, and I KNOW I was Selene. The last lines are eerily fitting.

Update: I now vaguely remember most of it. I guess this poem just rattled me when it showed me how much everything -my writing, life, I, Mr. L- has changed.