Dust

When I look into the empty air in front of me,
I think to myself...

We, air and I, us, we are so alike.

The dust particles float so care free.
They're graceful in such a disgusting way.
Not being able to control where they are headed.

Realization, we do it all the time.
Whether we notice or not.
Other times it hits us hard,
knocks us backwards
and makes us fall to the ground.
Like a sudden gust of cold wind,
it leaves you shivering.

Sadness,
first it starts to build
and then rushes heavily toward you.
Water dripping from the sky,
and from your eyes.

Wallowing...
something every human
should be able to do.
Just wallow in their own self pity for awhile.
And so the dust collects.
The air is dense and heavy,
like your stomach.

Light, the air becomes thin
and you feel weightless while
the drugs settle in your veins.

Clumsy, the air is unstable.
Cold, then hot. Left then right.
Like your body when the achohol stings.

Empty, the way the air seems
to be so clean, so crisp.
 No dust floats while you lay in the hospital bed.