In My Shoes

• 05/06/2006
• One-minute read

When you sit in a chair you still see through your own eyes.
But what if you could see the pain of others, through their masks and lies?

A million darkened memories enveloping the pain.

The weight so great, your chair would break and so your heart beneath the heavy strain.

Why do I ignore the fact that I am not alone?
I gather, to avoid the fear of becoming a mindless drone.

I am perhaps dependently independent.
These moronic words never sounded so indecent.

There are a many trusting people that are ever oh so kind.
But if some soul sat in my chair, I really don’t know what they’d ever find.