I sat down and wrote this:

Red Balloons

I filled them with my breath
Then stuck them to the wall with pins,
Five red balloons, plump as cushions
And in the shape of hearts.

The days pass, I wait for them
To shrivel up and waste away quietly
As is usual,
But they remain the same.

Shiny heads gorged with air
Hanging from strangled necks.

I do not take them down or even
Touch them for fear they will
Burst in my empty hands.