The Nymph in the Bubble

The heavy rain is falling like bullets. I wait in my bubble. I have not forgotten you.

When I first met you, I knew we were destined to become lovers. You plagued my mind for weeks. Then one cold winters night you enticed me out of my bubble. You brought me a gift, patent leather blue shoes. They were a perfect fit. We sat on your bed and you spoke of your masochist ways. You gave me my first infliction of pain.

Remember making out under the stars, you tied me to the tree in your garden. The rope burnt my hands and made them bleed. I felt alive.

This summer we spent hours in the blistering sun. Reciting poetry amongst Lady Lazarus and Ariel. You always had my full attention when you spoke of passionate tales, torture and love.

Twenty-eight days ago, October 21st, it was a beautiful day. I had good news. I had never felt so elated. I felt giddy, like a child each step was unsteady... Then I found you, hanging from the tree lifeless.

I have retreated back into my bubble. Without you, it's a desolate journey.

Today, my bubble shimmers, my bubble spins, my bubble bounces.

I crawl on my hands and knees close to the edge. Plummet towards earth and burst this fucking bubble.


  1. There's always a fucking bubble, isn't there? Why can't there be more lovers, more love, more poems and more passionate tales?