Dust

There's dust that fly 10 thousand kilometres,

 there's another one that stays under your bed. 

There's dust that never leaves the room. 

There's dust next to the death, there's dust with blood. 

There's dust in the oversights but there's dust in self-neglecting. 

There's dust in the miserable corners of life.

There's dust in the unplayable instruments. 

There's dust before falling in pieces. 

There's dust in the silence and there's dust in the forgetfulness. 

There's dust in everything that's about to die. 

There's dust in the broken hearts, 

there's dust in the grief, 

there's dust in the sadness. 

Because it's what dust is made of. It is just sadness.