Leanne's poem is a triolet, a tight eight-line form where the first line returns as the fourth and seventh, and the second line returns as the last. That repetition suits the subject: the poem circles back on itself and never escapes, much like a mind stuck in grief or disappointment.
The speaker feels a deep sense of loss. The dream has "fallen into dust," and the comparison to a "haggard womb" suggests something that should have produced life but now offers nothing. Around this emptiness, "formless beasts" crowd in and "consume the flesh of innocence and trust." Judging by these images, the speaker sees hope being devoured by vague, threatening forces rather than by any single clear cause.
The mood is bleak and claustrophobic. The repeated lines work like a refrain of despair, and the title, "Done," adds a final, weary note, as if nothing more can be hoped for.