My Cardboard Balcony

Well, how about that shit? I guess I'm twenty-four. Not quite as mechanically young as I was anymore. This age ain't quite twenty-five; I guess it's got some bite. Got more of a tang and effervescence than Corona Lite. I'm more than empty calories, I'm not an easy meal aimed to please you or your taste buds. I just make it real, trying to find out a solution to societal collapses, flood your consciousness with thought, overload your synapses. Nerve ends igniting, overlighting with colors berserk - from a mediocre twenty-four-year-old, that's some work. I don't aim to bring flavor, or enact some petty favor. I'll just keep the keyboard hot to bring you words that you can savor. Birthday was today. Low-key for the most part, but nice. I don't consider twenty-four a milestone, even though it did bring out that weird, almost rap-style impromptu poem you just read. The thing is, twenty-four can be a solid number, so I'm going to enjoy it....

To Love Poems by Belinda Roddie all I can offer is percussive experience, tom-tom heartaches and timpani heartbreaks, but what do I know besides wishy-washy wishes and projecting my own insecurities to a white-knuckled, neck-cracking, finger-snapping audience who probably knows where my hands have been. yet all I hear as I stare at rainbow hips and neon lips kissing dew off the bumps on my face is the incessant lub-dub, love-dub, hug-love, fuck -love right in the tender spot below the leather belt that some would prefer for spanking. spare me the pretense of a blue-leaved lover or tell me that running away from the brink of desperation rips the road out from under my boots and brings me back to kaleidoscope focus. there’s a pattern riding on horseback and shooting a colt dragoon at the first aid membrane sealing my infantile fate. all I can do is bleed the pattern, all the blacks and ...

The data that had been processed in the past two weeks was, in fact, incomplete, and Rose was growing frustrated by it. If everything had gone according to plan, the code would be finished, and the next step of her plan would be underway. But as it was, of course, she had to do everything herself. She pulled up a chair and opened up the laptop, only to recoil as sparks seemed to fly from the screen. She wondered if it was an optical illusion due to the lighting, but nothing was ever that simple in her office.