What’s done is done.

And I am done.

What meaning do I have

if all I mattered to, left me for dead?

My beloved do not belove me.

I am disposable.

Superimposed into life, frame by frame,

I am not there.

Unnoticeable.

I am disposable,

You said so yourself.

What’s done is done,

you said so yourself.

So stop trying to re-write.

Just let me ball up

and die.

You can’t mend what has become.

What’s gone

is gone.