My shoes.

Walk a mile, or two inside the soles of my shoes,


If you were to walk with your feet in the soles of my shoes, 

Your feet will probably ache within an hour, 


Two will pass and your knees will wobble, 

Another four, 

You’d do anything to simply sit on the floor, 

Eight hours will come and go, 

Your feet will begin to slow, 

Sixteen hours tick by,

Sweet sweet sixteen to rest your feet and put them up. 

Thirty two, 

Truth be told your are toes are cold,

Sixty four, 

Your blisters are sore,

One hundred and twenty eight,

You’ll spin and spin, dizzy with aches,

Two hundred and fifty six, 

You’ll wish and wish for qualification of the aches in your body,

Five hundred and twelve, 

You’ve begun to have calluses on your toes,

One thousand and twenty four, 

Shuffle shuffle across the floor, 

Two thousand and fourty eight, 

Limp, limp, limp into the lit room,

Four thousand and twenty six, 

The hitch in your neck travels down your back. 

Eight thousand one hundred and nintey two, 

I think that’ll do, 

You’ve clocked nearly a year, 

Thank you.

What can I say, 

I’m quit amused.

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