Books are a great escape,
From the world's clutches,
and heartbreak.
And I walk,
Thinking of the words
within a novel I just read,
How they move me,
and remind me of the vary
places I had been in a short time ago.
The thoughts
distract me from
having to spend time with a broken family.
Still walking,
I look down at my shoes,
baffled by how worn out they are,
even though they were bought only 3 weeks before.
Maybe my shoes are like my heart,
They're so decrepit,
so tired of feeling the constant weight of
laughing in the morning,
and the weeping at night,
Their worn from a continuous nightmare
of pressure.
But that,
Is something
The books don't tell you.

a.s.