Vanessa Beerman

The dust comes in waves,

To choke or shelter me,

For what lies ahead.

It could be nice, like the feeling of ice,

Or cruel like a midnight duel.

Even if life is full of caves,

The dust will find me by land or sea,

Smelling like that of the dead.

Sometimes giving me advice,

And other times making me feel like a fool.

But then, the dust behaves,

To let me be free, finally,

So I can lie down in my dirt bed,

After paying the vicious price,

Of forever becoming a ghoul.