These shoes.
They don't feel like shoes at all, but anchors, weighing me down. Everything is.
My heart, the heaviest of them all, does not beat, but bangs against my ribs, ever tender, she is sorrowful. Ever tender, she is sensitive.
When I breath in I feel my lungs grow and deplete, I feel weak and withdrawn. I question reality, I remember that every second is the present, past and future all at once. It is so, such an issue to decipher in that very moment, what that single second is, because before you know it, you can't even finish the thought, before it has become a passing memory, it is the moments before, it is yesterday.
I live in the future.
I lived in the past.
The past is now, the future is now, the present is only the moment in which you breath in.
Then breath out.
And it's all gone again. You breathed the past, now you breath out in the future, which once you breath back in, is now a breath of the past.
Oxygen of the past.
Carbon Dioxide of the future.
Why do we pick weeds and wish on them?
Why do we toss coins in fountains?
Only to be stolen, by deep pocket scum. Who dirty themselves in coin littered water, and wetted their pants, and wetted their sleeves, for my wishes. For my faith and my hope and my dreams.
They run away, dripping with water, pockets filled of my spared change, my wishes my dreams. They run away, never to be caught or put on trial, for spending my faith on selfish desires.
The thief of society, the many that walk by you every day. embedded by greed.
To steal hearts, change, to eventually the sweet gift of virginity.
They take bodies and desires.
They devour them like selfish beasts. With teeth like knives and claws like daggers. With eyes like candle flame and a voice rugged like alleyway concrete. Why are you allured?
Why am I?
Oh boy, oh sweet and lovely boy. You knew I'd give anything for you.
I gave myself and my tender heart which has been torn, tendon by tendon by your sharp teeth. Gushing with the last of my divine love and hope that one day, I will be loved. I crawl back pitiful, to the boy I loved first. I crawl back appearing more as a dying mutilation rather than a woman, but I still pull with all my strength, and come crawling back.
And at your shoes, I look up at you and tell you in the same way I did last time:
"I love you."
Because I never loved him, and I always loved you.
