They float these pink balloons
Strings hanging down, they
Sway back and forth like
Leaves in the wind.

Weighted down never to reach
Beyond their moment, never to
Fly free, these pink balloons,
Swaying in the wind.

Scuffing  across the floor, neither
gravity keeps them grounded, or
These pink balloons never to
Let this hanging moment soar.

I have many pretty balloons, my
Favorate is pink, pink is the colour
Of flesh, a beautiful tone. One
I like to cut and bleed, as they hang
There slowly strangled floating on air.

What will take them, floating along
Scuffing feet plead for the ground,
But I like to pierce the flesh, like a
Balloon life does deflate slowly
Then gone as if never there.

I have many balloons suspended, some
Stagnant still, while others twitch.
Floating just above life, gliding
Closer to death as they hang upon
String neither here or there.