I filled in shoes
with missing soles.
Pretending
gulping down hardened saliva.
Beads of sweat at my Adam's apple
glistened.
Pain tasted like pride.
Toes twitched
at the sting of a recluse spider,
living in the corners
of the worn-out leather.
'Perfect fit "exclaimed the world
pumping me for the marathon
on mountains.
The path was clear of
any wildflowers
weeds
or seeds.
Walking the trail
a destiny thinned out
into borrowed footsteps.
The edge of the cliff
was reached
without ceremony.
The journey of a soleless shoe
and soulless self
by miles that arrived
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Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: January 7th, 2026 06:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
Here a depiction of an event seems metaphor as well. A journey with no soles and a deadly spider as well that society tells one to ignore. Where is the joy when flowers are removed. All leads to a cliff anyway.
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