No one sees me now.

I used to be seen; to be known; to be wanted.

Now I'm a piece of trash that has been discarded for the dumpsite; I have tried to cling on, annoyingly, refusing to accept what I've become.

What is so wrong with me? Does my deterioration smell? Does it make you uncomfortable? What about my comfort? Are you trying to be energy-smart by not bothering with me?

But now, I've stopped trying.

I know I am unwanted, easier to throw away than trying to save.

But the disintegration has started and can't be reversed.

I'm in a forgotten place, long overlooked; even though many are around me, I am alone.