London College Of Communication, SE1 6SB, London UK

Biannual London based print and online magazine, producing its own written and visual content.


Yellow Ballon

I am a ray of buoyant hope

Bounding along to my own delicate beat

Supported by forgotten breathes and a simple rope

Held down only by a small hand and timidly placed feet


But sometimes I am sadly let go into a windy flow

Not unkindly, but because someone else needs me

Following wherever there is a distinct lack of a glow

Until another hand reaches out and holds on until I am not free


This hand is special very much indeed

I can feel the coldness in this hand 

But I have already planted a seed

That will not grow on any land


This promise of growth is my only gift

I take my leave as soon as I feel it 

That this person has felt a lift

And I think I have done my bit


Until I feel the same icy hand again

The pressure closing in tighter than at first

So tight around my brain

I am afraid I might burst


And then I stop being

This murderous hand deserved no happiness

How could I have known that I would now be bleeding?

My light is dimming now - my – b - breathing - a - mess


I am no longer a buoyant ray of hope

My boundless heart trampled under uncaring feet

My asthma no longer needs to cope

All because someone mistook my beautiful brain for a seat

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