I had a liquid face,
heated by a rose colored balloon
that climbed pointedly from my gut
and through my tightening esophagus
by way of helium.
We'll call him Helium,
the boy who gave me the rose colored balloon.
My vision blurred, like the middle twist of a kaleidoscope.
Milky focus became prolific blinks, crystalline,
producing delicate art across my hot cheeks.
The linear pattern unplanned, yet deliberate like marching ants
tickling my skin,
trickling downward by way of gravity.
We'll call him Gravity,
the boy who created this linear art,
these prolific blinks,
this liquid face.

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I am 24, I live in New York, and I honestly don't know a lot about poetry in a formal sense but I love to experiment with all forms of creative expression. I wrote this poem to capture a moment of manifested heartbreak.