I feel like

Ninety-nine red balloons released into the sky

Strings caught

Or the hand released

But whose hand?

I feel the devil is in the detail

The color, the balloons, the fluid from my heart

An arrow headed for it, predestined to puncture

Suspended now in animation

For what could have, did not

The arrow, falling, cascading through layers of stagnation

And upon this realization, it occurred to me

That I

Was just thinking about you