1. A balloon
In a bundle of carnival balloons held by a clown’s hand, I am the one floating near the clown’s head. I do not soar. I do not reach and inspire. I bob along.
Perhaps I am a pleasant colour to one child. They ick me, but by the time their parents place them asleep in the car seat, I’m gone. I slipped away at some point and became forgotten; lost; away. I do not drift to the sky. I skid into a dark place and deflate.
2. A rock in a river
Once, I was large and imposing. I splashed down into the world, into a creek, and let the water crash around me. I enjoyed the view and the rush.
But now the water is poison and strong. I am whittled away to a stone, a pebble, a grain of sand, until I disappear into microscopic debris. I am sent elsewhere and might well have not existed in the first place.
3. A blanket
Somehow, I am a barrier. I lie between the real world and the comfortable world. I want to be in both places, but can’t be in them together: I must decide. So often, I return to the comfortable world. The one without light, without movement, without action. A suffocation and one that needs no effort.
There is no production. There is no development. There is only easy, comfortable, decaying stasis.