little shoes,
i sit
cross-legged and convinced that it
will be better in the
morning,
just like mother
used to say
melting into carpet like
spilled water
no longer appeals to the
spotlight of my
frozen eyes
entranced
lost
in the metal strings
vibrating with them
clicking against my ribs
i am an overtone
lost in the ceiling with the spotlight
for now i am a girl of little shoes,
a girl who treads
lightly where
many have been before
and after
and left
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