The Empty Balloon
It’s been 30 days since you sent me your ‘gift’;
A flaccid, Hot-Air-Balloon of Broken Dreams and humiliation
A stark reminder of your failings and of my pitiful demise
at both our hands
You showered me with lies, lies and
more lies
Nothing’s fine
my mind’s eyes are not mine
You haunt me constantly
as, scene-by-scene the image of what seemed to be
replays, and replays, and replays...
For days now, I’ve been craving something I cannot enunciate
but punctuated in between my night-time gasps are moments, ever lasting which scream to me of silence ever after
It seems our love was just an image,
-a pretense
full of hot-air and fleeting chances
for reconciliation with the devil;
a love, dishevelled by life but not by fate nor fortune
I hate the fact I care
The bubble may be burst
but onward marching towards my destiny I strive,
wearily infuriated by the weight of a thousand tears cried solid
dried, but ever ready to evaporate again at the hat’s drop
The air may have been sucked out of the clotted lungs of our love
but the empty balloon lives on.
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