I walk down this empty street, that it is not really empty.
But filled, filled with people who live their own lives.
Filled with defeated warriors who have smoked their lives away.
Filled with courageous fighters who are in the verge of giving in.
People like me, people like you.
Still, I have never felt so alone.

This dirty sidewalk is all I can see, and all that sees me.
I wonder if there is a white floor underneath.

A dark dust is getting into my shoes.
It starts out in my soles until it swallows me whole.
It has tarnished my soul, leaving me with an oxidized hope.
It runs through my veins, covers my room.
It cuts into my skin like thorns.

I saw the glass of my life, half way filled with lies and half way filled with truth.
But the truth had evaporated and was now dust.

I was painted in the wall, exposed for everyone to see, but nobody saw me.
I was covered in dust.
I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

My face was dirty with the brown dust.
My smile was stained with black paint.
My eyes simply reflected a dirty agony.
My arms and legs sustained the scars of my soul, caused by the razor-like claws of the world.

Where can you run to escape from yourself?
I tried to scream but my voice had died out.
I tried to fly but my wings were broken.
I tried running but my feet were frozen.
I tried to hold on but the there was nothing to hold on to.
I was surrounded by dust, standing in dust.

The walls were closing in; the air was not enough to breathe.
I could feel the burn in my throat as I drowned in my own words.
So I inhale the dust, I let it filled my lungs.
I let it rot my body and what was left of my soul.
I let it kill me slowly because the heart does not run on white dust.