Written on the night i couldn't sleep. At all.

I am a dust dote.

Fluttering through the thick summer air.

Tumbling and toiling into this and that, no real direction to follow.

No arroe to guide me north, south or east.

Just mezmerised by the view of life from this angle,

so vulnerable and troubled.

I toil at the idea of falling from my westerly wind,

drifting me towards my new home.

So frightened of the landing that i keep myself high.

Hovering above the flames,

which light me a thousand colours.

I explode into nothing.