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Dust on the skin,

turned to stone

in the accumulated years

trying to move in vain.

I still don't know where my path leads me,

uncertain, struggling with each new step, tiring.

Not even home seems like home anymore,

only a bare, broad, cage.

Finding the force into something that is already dead.

People try to help, but words don't hurt or sweeten,

they just flow, like tears on my skin.

Not even home seems like home anymore.