Socks+with+Sandals

by Christine Blaisdell

The fabric is suffocating you under the leather Or the rubber, depending on where you bought them. There is no room for you to breathe In that kind of situation. Trapped, a silent scream for Help that no one can hear. As the air grows short The darkness surrounds you. Compounds you. I think that’s what you get, it’s all your Fault. It was the choices you made. I wish it were better for you. The sun is dying To touch your skin, to leave its marks of affection. Of freedom. But he can’t. He can’t reach you. It’s your fault. You’re the one who wore Socks with sandals.