What is this, a tear?
Over here, and over there.
They snap and snarl in my direction,
Taunting me, as if they could reach.

The poor soles, wearing away.
Growing thin with each new step I take.
The interior of the right side has begun to shred.
And I dread the feeling of it.

What is this now, a stain?
Invading the bright fluorescent color that used to be.
Like fire, now smoldering; the cause of black smudges.
The perfect snow white is slush tint now a day.

Delicate sewn string, coarsen by slight rips from whereabouts unknown.
The single black strands on the sides have torn away leaving a gap not meant to be filled.
Double stitches winding up and about the skin like fabric, somehow still intact.
Along with the perfectly aligned, silver buttons stained with paint.

Is this a crack too?
The embed tattoo of a trademark is disgraced.
Faded and flaking in several places.
The only thing left unsaturated.
The burning red of fire, hidden deep beneath the stringy lace.

Dear Converse.
You seem crippled with pain.
But your worthy structure, and “appealing” looks.
Make me love you all the same.