Wisping fragments fill the air.
As you walk down the stairs,
They travel in curves,
Only to upset my nerves.
I watch you descend from the top down,
Wondering just how much dust could be around.
Breathing in and breathing out,
My lungs are filled with doubt.
The particles remain,
With all my life I refrain,
To speak out in this library,
To scream out, to be contrary.
I might get sick,
Start to feel like shit.
Thousands upon thousands,
Of particles in my body becoming roused.
By the dust that shifted around.
Solemn, I keep my mind on level ground.
To not speak out in this dirty place,
I am saved by the grace,
That is called