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
Unfocused Media 