Fate of the Balloon

by Viktor Tejada

I have disappointed her once again. 

They say there’s nowhere to go but up from here.
If that were true,
I’d be a balloon released from the creases of your fingers,
slowly offered up to the skies
only to experience great pressure that would bring me to my demise
as I fall back to Earth,
I land without the sight of your eyes.

Even the skies reject.
Even the skies deny.
For abhorrent people like myself,
I need not ask why.

Should I stay on Earth,
I’d be to deflate.
To lose air.
To lose everything that shaped me.
To dry.
To die. 

There really is nowhere to go,
be it up or down.
Deep in my thoughts,
I know I will drown.