In an attic, cold I sit
Bare boards rub my skin as I move,
Rough grain is stark reality.
I try to escape;
Tie a ribbon round my neck
Keep me from my freedom with your gossamer chains.
In a chest, sealed with a lock to which I do not have the code
Is kept the warmth and joy I never know
Something I only hear through rumor – dreams and wishes.
On my attic wall there hangs
A measuring tape which is always too high,
Too tall for me to reach
To tear it down.
I hold onto my dear helium balloons
My precious objects of comfort, small and dull
Take me up, high up, over this gloom.
But I overshoot my mark
Strike the needle poised at the top,
Waiting patiently, concealed from my practiced naiveté.
I come crashing down again into the abyss
Back to my state of nature.
I wait for someone to wander in
Someone who perhaps is lost,
Lost as I am hopeless, aimless
To find me in my attic bare
Curled in a corner, lost in shadow
Hollow and frail from captivity,
And recall a long lost number
That happens to unlock my chest.
I'll feel the hidden warmth at last,
That fictional euphoria reserved for VIPs,
What I had begun to doubt existed,
And float away on drafts of air
Clutching tight my red balloons.