Bubble

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.