27may07 PJ Ryans
'that's just the thing' said the sneaker to the toes. 'it's what holds us together, the fabric between us,' said the sneakers to the toes. 'everyday you work me over, kicking me relentlessly while i envelope and protect you. day in, day out, you work me over completely. with socks a shroud over your dead feet, like funeral clothe, relentless pounding of the toes. never ending, permanent distress, pounding, pounding, pounding. and when the day comes, and it will, when i am old and worn to bits, there is no gold, no reward, no sunset or goal, just tossed aside in trash and left to rot in bins and holes. you get a new pair to fill your needs, leaving me to be lonely till the day when i am recognizable no more.'...said the sneakers to the toes.
i cannot stand being around people that talk to me, yet being in the presence of kind people as ins the case here usually, i would rather not talk, but write. i like crowds so long as i am not noticed or or involved. (you must be crazy to be reading this).
in gusts and gales these hateful winds blow back and forth, forcing me in and shutting myself out. oh dear bog, it's miserable living here on the outskirts of life, looking in through the window from which i jumped out, looking and praying for a way even further out. a drunken mess one night, a blubbery baby the next. to no end this haze envelopes, no more dutch girls to steer my heart in ways of err. far loneliness past, in hollow existance i am leaving myself to dogs of indecision, they knaw, but not know what to knaw on next, yet forever eating away at me as a whole. disgusting, vile, and autonamous, i, who doesn't know where he's going, and cannot remember where he's been.
i cannot stand being around people that talk to me, yet being in the presence of kind people as ins the case here usually, i would rather not talk, but write. i like crowds so long as i am not noticed or or involved. (you must be crazy to be reading this).
in gusts and gales these hateful winds blow back and forth, forcing me in and shutting myself out. oh dear bog, it's miserable living here on the outskirts of life, looking in through the window from which i jumped out, looking and praying for a way even further out. a drunken mess one night, a blubbery baby the next. to no end this haze envelopes, no more dutch girls to steer my heart in ways of err. far loneliness past, in hollow existance i am leaving myself to dogs of indecision, they knaw, but not know what to knaw on next, yet forever eating away at me as a whole. disgusting, vile, and autonamous, i, who doesn't know where he's going, and cannot remember where he's been.
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