i think - DIARY ENTRY

i think 

i must have spent last week 

blowing up birthday balloons 

i forgot i had. 

now 

with the windows 

tightly shut, 

in my cuboid flat 

balloons are piled up on the carpet. 

my lungs 

are missing one 

hundred small gulps of air

and breathe-filled proportions are floating around my head, 

ignorant to their container, 

large in their assertions, and oblivious 

to ‘size’, as a construct. 

now 

nothing fits, 

and in my tiny world 

no one moves, for fear 

of touching the static.