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.