High Heels

Skyscrapers formed from single grains,

with broke smokers wanting to feel high; but when the cement

starts bleeding, even the last tune the Nightingale had

stuck on its beak bleeds, and like spittle, joins the sea:

the camouflage graveyard.

It wasn't the dim lit room filled with cigarette puffs:

the only thing that lit up the room defining lung cancer as the

only time they wouldn't breathe for you.

It wasn't the cracks they smoked that cracked already

falling foundations with fallen hopes of resurrection.

However, when you swing your high heels on faces too

short to see you; remember, even the toes you step on with pointy

edges, would end up being yours.

So those high heels you wanted so badly to fit in, when its foundation

begins to bleed as you're smoking high and dancing, your ankle pulls off its

hinges and we hear a thump followed by wine glass shattering on the dull red ballroom floor.

Your mistake leaving you limping away, from your dream heels,

with naked feet.

ad_poet