Broken Dreams

I walk alone. All alone. I left my colors at home by my cell phone. I walk alone. I've been walking, walking with no end. There are streets wishing to be painted, but know it will never happen. On top of a hill, there is an easel waiting to be used, and a pure canvas wishing to have personality. There are no brushes, only filthy sticks. Humans, are not humans. They walk as living objects wishing to be touched by that blank canvas. Rivers have stopped flowing that never flowed in the beginning. I walk alone. This lonely road has always been this way. Only I exist, but I don't even know if that's even true. That's right. I'm not human either, nor am I anything. Just air, wishing to be breathed into something, or someone. I walk alone.