My Cardboard Balcony

Don't Be Stupid by Belinda Roddie Don't be stupid climbing up the rope ladder leading to the lighthouse swirling watercolors into a foam around your jawline. Don't try calling for your mother to come over with a bottle of aspirin, to cool your hot nerves, bundled up like frayed strings from the same scarf. Don't be fooled into thinking that someone's out there to save you when you hear your ribs screaming against the jagged knives below, daggers icy with oceanic wet dreams, trying to soothe you with bubbles, calm you with froth, end you with salt.

Somebody told me that Grace told him that Laurie told her that Lexie told her that Kevin told her that Gerald told him that Hillary was kissing Heather. But of course, I didn't exactly care because I didn't know either Hillary or Heather, and when I asked this somebody why he even told me, he shrugged. "I thought you went out with one of them?" "Nope. You're thinking Henry." "Henry?" "Yeah."