An Impulse Is Close To Discontent.

I lay stacks of shoes like piling boxes in a warehouse. Unaware of the strong scent it does when worn. Seemingly, others would be as new, some may just be outworn, old, sipping with damage and the rest wet-filled with molds. The swell would rose finding no content as with its owner. A result of dissatisfaction and the quick interest to things and the hastened loss of importance to it.