How nice to be disposable.
Despite that I seem worth keeping.
Their actions prove otherwise.
Am I doomed to be used just once,
and thrown away?
If only I could be made of paper.
I would not pollute this place.
With my endless patience...
Instead I could be crumpled up.
And just burn, or decay.
But they just keep recycling.
No matter how I try to stay.
My ashes return to the earth.
I watch them drift away.