Forgotten dust particles

Sometimes, 
Being alone when the angels, 
Or demons call me
Is ominously comforting. 
Sometimes, 
Being alone is the only place, 
Where there is acceptance. 
Sometimes, 
There is beauty,
In going unheard, 
Unwanted, 
Unloved…

Or is my mind torn, 
By the darkness that spreads across my soul?
Expanding like an ever-growing ink blot, 
Until eventually, 
Each corner is covered,
And I have discovered, 
That my heart is no more than a table, 
Laying its contents for everyone to take, 
And with every mistake, 
Every drop of wasted time, 
Every foreign touch, 
Every bed that was unwelcoming, 
Every cold shoulder, 
Every mocking glance, 
I begin to know, 
That I do not know, 
Who I really am
Who I want to be 
Or where I want to be
The tunnel vision starts caving in
And now the only bright colour is black 
There’s no turning back 
I choose to ride on the wind’s back, 
As forgotten dust particles.