Rotting Away
It's too late;
There's nothing left of me.
Much like how moldy food
Cannot be eaten
No matter how good it was before,
Even if I was good at anything once
(which I never was),
It doesn't matter now.
I've wasted away,
And everything
And everyone
Has already passed me by.
And like how that rotted food
Is tucked into the trash can
And left to gather flies,
I serve no purpose beyond a warning
Of what not to do.
I will never pick away the mold
And become something worthwhile;
It's too late,
And maybe always has been.
And so I must put myself where I belong,
Feeding the earth
In the only way I can
Just like that abandoned trash
Which at least could have been useful
At one point.