Black Shoe This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

June 8, 2017
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I hadn’t any idea what to do
About your little black shoe
That dawdled over my little black eye
Shriveled up inside a weary socket
That plastered itself
Right beside my little black brain,
Which was charred by the thought of you
And your little black shoe
With its waxy patent leather skin
That seemed to mock my own flesh
That was covered with wine and cloud paint
Underneath the shadow
Of your seemingly slender ankle
Which, as I knew,
Was only an illusion
To hide the obese nature of your mind
Where fat ringed your irises
And your feet weighed more than my spirit,
Or at least you thought it did,
When you muddied my face
Underneath your little black shoe,
Twisting your little black toes over my spirit
As if I was the butt of a cigarette
That you used to char your lungs
Just like you used me to char mine,
With your little black heart
That pulsed like a swamp
Where noxious fumes muddied innocent eyes,
Turning innocent hands to green mildew
That you kept like a rotting penny
Underneath your black stocking-wrapped heel,
Pressed into the sole of your little black shoe,
Where even the most fervent soul
Would be smothered as if it were simply an insect
With a tiny exoskeleton that so repulsed you
For even your little black veins
Were clogged with the fear of knowing,
Of acknowledging what you had done,
Like little black chimneys that you clawed into
As little sooty children would crawl into the fireplace
Sweeping out the excess
Just like your little black shoe
As you tried to sweep me away,
As you tried to weed me out
Like shriveled fillings out of your little black teeth
Where all but pearls would rot under your breath
And worms coated your little black tongue
That was always coated with your cigarette smoke,
The smoke you never exhaled, but swallowed;
Gulping down cancer like the fresh mountain breeze
That you stole from the keepsake box in my mind,
The box that held all the memories you charred,
Little blackened strips of film negatives and vinyl records,
Smothering their ashes underneath your little black shoe
Without a care in the world,
Just as you sought to blanket my unrest
With the contrived nature of your little black smile,
Sooty and yellow with your toxic air
With the whole world privy to what you knew,
Though you didn’t know they knew,
And yet you still squelched the mucky world
Underneath your little black shoe,
As if I was a sickly little worm,
Or a tack-less bit of glue
That stuck to the bottom of your little black shoe
Like the welts in your throat,
Burning and burning with your cigarette smoke.

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