Subway shoes have a some way goal,
it depends on their soul,
it depends if they’re sold.
Think about them, subway shoes; can carry the blues, they carry the fools.
They can beat on streets that have sharper turns than the saville row suits that they wear,
and they kick at the dust in reflection to their lost love whom they met there.
We are all just bullets in a gun,
Russian roulette that starts off as fun…
until somebody gets hurt.
Consistently firing shots for our selfish means and our devilish deeds.
I am favoured to float,
unsound and unfounded.
Where I don’t tread on toes to admit defeat, and for that,
the stones that are thrown do not land near my feet.
I have chosen to disconnect from my kind.
© Thelma Von Salem @ https://thelmavonsalem.com
Image – Pinterest