it's nice in here
so far above
the mess that is the world
and I'm content to sit and think
and mull and just
ignore
the hurt that is down there

i know they cry
i feel their pain
but solitude's so rare
and I don't want to weep
or feel
or help
or heal
right now

but one day, though,
my bubble orb
that floats so high above
will pop and down I'll fall
back to the hurt
that is the world

and then I'll help and listen to
their lives and all their pain
and hug and heal and fill them up
with all my love again
so much
until the awful, hurting
emptiness sets in
and all around, my little walls--
so delicate and thin--
of rainbows form
and I am trapped
contentedly within

i'll float so high
above the world
the nonstop needy, needle world
that pokes and prods and pricks and
pop

reality begins.