Agletist Manifesto

My shoes are crying

They feel empty, loose, vast

The burned ends of my laces spend their hours lying

With the feeling that every step is the last

Without the perfectly administered plastic piece

They will flip and fall

Like a greasy burger’s unattainable cheese

So many people unaware, mostly all

The boots in my closet just don’t see

The dark surroundings a poncho of confusion

Envy emerges, and the boots express it to me

They fit tighter now, unless my laced shoes simply project that illusion

The majority of the population’s knowledge still fails to grow

My god, does anyone know

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