Her heels are black and charred
Not because of the lawns lack of moisture
It is softer than the bed floral jumper she sports
Crumbling into little pieces, the tips of her toes are falling off
The way a burnt log turns into a pile of small, dark clusters
Sitting at the bottom of the fire place
It is only used at christmas time
Stomping into the snow with blackened heels
Dripping sweat, she is so warm
About Me.
- Emma Cherry
- In a yellow sumbarine, Liechtenstein
- We must blend into the choir Sing as static with the whole. We must memorize nine numbers and Deny we have a soul. And in this endless race for property and Privilege to be won. We must run, we must run, we must run.
