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Eleanor Rigby Mar 2015
You bit your lip
And winked at me
A glass of wine in your hand,
A cigarette
Hanging out of your mouth.
You were *******
On the floor
And I barefoot
On the bed
With three other people
Who talked a lot.
You mumbled something
To yourself
But the music
Was too loud.
I looked away,
I looked up to the ceiling
Which had disappeared
To put the stars on display.

And you and me, my love.
We were there.


F.Z.**N
WickedHope Dec 2014
Stop humoring me
If you don't really care,
Because I'm wasting my time --
Wasting my life,
And I can't afford any more breaks.
Anymore breaks and I'll shatter,
Don't you understand that?
I'm just trying to find a clear image
In this distorted blur;
I want a clear reflection
In this dark pool.
So, take off your mask,
Because I'm tired --
Exhausted -- from all these masquerades.
I just want to dance barefoot in the sand...
Do you want to dance barefoot in the sand?
What the hell did I just write?
Emotions, bleh.
raingirlpoet Jul 2014
Sometimes it feels like you're walking around on tiptoe as not to disturb the glass beneath your feet
Broken edges, sharp shards of memories and the life that once was
Shoes mask the familiar feel of the ground, confuse your feet, and throw them off path
Barefoot and
Not so free
Hobble around, try to regain your balance whilst staying upright
Don't look down, feel around for the soft areas
A blind man, navigating through a minefield
What are the chances of getting through safely?
When it rains more glass you grab at your threadbare sweatshirt that is trying so hard to protect you
Your innocent, now scarred white flesh glistens against the storm of needles that ***** your skin
At what point do you decide to stop caring?
At what point do you take off the jacket that's not been doing much for you anyways and just give yourself to the battle?
Sacrificial living or
Sacrificial dying
Sacrificial being
At what point do you blow up?
I'm trying to understand this way of walking
But I stomp around on heavy feet
My feet are calloused and sore
I'm barefoot and free
I've blown off my limbs but what's a little blood to stop the war?
My scars have faded
I gave myself to the storm
Yet I'm still breathing
I've not died though I've walked many a mile on
Tiptoe back when I thought it was wise
To walk on shattered glass
MC Hammered Jun 2014
Walking barefoot down rocky dirt paths.
Kicking up clouds of dust with each step,
testing the thickness of my soles soul,
I found comfort in the pain of each sharp stone,
digging deep. Comfort in pessimistic understanding.
Knowing, the next wouldn't hurt as bad.
Wounds turn to callus. Hardened skin, hardens within.
Each weathered scar, reminder of hard earned strength.
Ritual of self inflicted mutilation by choice, rocky dirt path
by fate. Walking, walking, still. Still barefoot
down rocky, dirt paths.
TheBookworm Apr 2014
Bare feet scuttle around on marbled floors

Painting muddy footprints on the white canvas.

Onlookers walk by in disgust, their noses in

The air as they click their heels in an effort

To avoid the unbecoming scene before them.


The feet are callused and shred, imprints of

Pebbles forever etched into the raw flesh

Of their nakedness. Was it worth it?

Yes. It should be.

It will be.


The gritty pavement is as hot as the

Sun, a burning star, a supernova lifetimes

Away. Their yellowed teeth are clenched tightly;

They are determined to stand despite the furious

Pain slowly eating its way into the

Soles of their feet.


Many scars and scratches from roads they have

Traveled are scattered across the bareness;

They are proud, for it is their art,

That is the measurement

Of their life.


At last, the final goodbye from the scorching day

Kisses their heads in a bittersweet farewell

And You see them smiling in the dark,

Blue eyes glowing with a brilliance You have

Never seen before. They are eager to

Run with their bare, misshapen feet

And jump with all their strength into the

Watery depths below.

You look around.

They are splashing in the waves,

The cool ocean soothing the pains

Of the day.

The corner of Your lip upturns with

A hint of a smile.

This is how they live.

And this is who they are.


Who then are you going to be?

— The End —