Popping sugar cubes

pour the milk methodically,
untie all my balloons
in bunches periodically,
and bring me silver spoons
for when i'm free to mix my tea
with sugar (just a sprinkling)-
on that same day they all will say
they didn't have an inkling,
that for my latex splendour
i had quietly been deflating,
my sugar swapped with splenda,
i had anxiously been waiting
to burst, to pop, for time to stop
my insides poured away,
an empty cup. or be filled up
with helium, and, hey!
to be released and find my peace
amidst the clouds and bubbles,
taking flight and, out of sight,
forgetting all my troubles.
hide depression, good impression,
pretend i'm hale and hearty.
i'm still confined by weights of mind,
a highly strung tea party.

The End

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