strolling on stolen feet, we learn and use and use what we learn and thus we are the same; variations, inversions and revisions but still the same.
No one is original, not he nor she nor I nor it.
No one’s original.
It’s all the same shit.
Who’s fault is this? It’s mine, theirs and his. But who can own? For everything and everone is itself, a constitution and conglomeration of everything else.
Are these words even mine?
Theived thoughts, stolen stances and rubbudled puddles.
Idiots!
Pleasure is pain and the cold is hot,
Identity is there but no one will stop
Do your feet even belong to you?
Or do you belong to your feet?
Step where your toes want to goand jump from your balls, these feet are bot mine
But neither are they yours. They are everyone elses. This I know is true but truth cannot be told, only learned and observed. The truth is too subjective to be told. So though my soles are not mine, I will learn till I’m old, and observe the subjection throughout my time.
Do not step for you, but for your feet, for everyone else until you sleep.
Forever strolling on stolen feet.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.