The Popped Balloon: A Poem

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The scent is never far away.

It appears. It stays, silently,

It comes up, it ebbs away.

I open up to you. I let you in.

You already are, always have been.

Your death will not poison me,

I will make it the cure for everything

That needs healing.

 

I still ask myself questions.

I still think in too many directions.

I sense that you’re getting closer to her.

That she is getting ahold of you slowly.

 

Did you think it would happen in July?

Did you think you wouldn’t turn twenty-five?

Did you see it coming? You didn’t know when you woke up.

A day like all the others. Fire burned the page.

Burned the covers. Burned the book.

 

You jumped in July.

Did you know how?

When did you know how?

Was it a coincidence?

The steps towards self-destruction

Challenge me to acknowledge peace within them.

 

Did you live in this mindset

Alongside us all, is there even a right or wrong

Way to live or die? I don’t know.

 

I seek you every single day.

Feel you closer, feel you further away.

Feel you ripple within us, the smile on your face,

You cannot come back, not the way you were,

That’s not what you wanted, you chose to be free

The way you defined your own freedom, what made

You feel good and liberated and wholesome.

It feels hard to believe.

 

It’s like walking to a job you hate

And you work so much better

Because you carry the notice in your backpack

Free to quit at any moment.

selective color photography of blood moon
Photo by Dids on Pexels.com

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