There is slow wind <br />Prickling my neck hairs. <br />A creeping notion <br />Caused by vanity. <br /> <br />Softly it travels <br />About the body, <br />An air of largeness <br />Devours my tongue. <br /> <br />The voice grows louder, <br />Arms extend madly, <br />Brimming with hot air. <br />I’m a red balloon. <br /> <br />Yet I erred; I spoke <br />To pretentiously, <br />And a small needle <br />Punctured my soft skin. <br /> <br />I lay now, shredded <br />Bits of torn rubber <br />Are carried away… <br />Air is what remains. <br /> <br />Sense never misses <br />A chance to destroy <br />Superficiality<br /><br />Lazarus Knix<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ego-ballon/
