Foots.

There is something on my foot. It is my shoe. OR IS IT? Whatever it is, it frightens and confuses me, and stops my feet from feeling. I want my feet to feel alive, to have their toes dance and frolic in the morning air, to grip the carpet 'neath their stubby splendor. Yet my feet writhe and scream and bake and baste in the insidious foot juices they themselves have excreted. DIRTY DILAPIDATED TOES EXCRETING FOOT FETIDNESS.

I go take shoe off now.