Popped Balloon

Here's another poem that I wrote on the train on my way home from Uni. My friend, Sam, was sitting with me and said that I was messed up. I thought it was funny... 

Standing on the platform I hear the rumble,

that tranquil, loud forever, forever grumble.

How quaint and perfect it is to I,

to others it is a fitting just to die.

I feel my bubble inflate and rise,

soon to pop, silencing the sighs.

Sighs from me, sighs from them,

the covering of noses, the fleeing to the hem.

In truth I can’t help but smile,

as my bubble will soon make a pile.

The smell will spread wide and proud,

and I am happy, I even bowed.