Balloon


The coalescing avian chirps and patters of rain
slowly begins to pry my eyelids from themselves
The abdominal pain and feeling of my stomach sucking
on air reveals that I am still in the process of
domesticating my hunger

Dazed, I move to the living room, shaking off the
old high as I prepare to put on a new one
It seems as though I am simple
Not much required to sustain
I watch someone else's hands prepare the
ashen bowl, giving new life to the grave
of those before it

The taste of balloon rubber enters my mouth,
yet that is all I feel, representing my
increased imperviousness to this physical mantra

Pain, numbness, dope, doubt, another balloon

I float

Rising, I enjoy the ascent

Yet, as the repeated proverbial Icarus, I know that I
am doomed by the sheer elevation of my own high.

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