Bubbles Galore

He drank it believing it was air,
foam ringing his mouth like praise,
his own reflection curved into success.

Notifications chimed like glasses clinking,
every agreement another layer of shine.
He told himself the sweetness meant truth,
that floating meant he’d finally arrived.

The walls thickened quietly.
Mortgage breath, diet belief, inherited fear.
He stopped hearing anything but his own pulse
echoing against soap‑slick certainty.

He mistook silence for safety,
insulation for wisdom,
and called the pressure comfort
because everyone else was holding it too.

When it broke, it wasn’t loud.
No sirens—just a sudden sting of air.
The ground didn’t vanish; it waited.
Cold, real, solid under his feet.
He inhaled without permission for the first time.
Don’t mourn the bubble.
It wasn’t home.
He’s free now.