My Cardboard Balcony

Dipped In All The Colors by Belinda Roddie These shadows on the walls want me to snap myself in half. I'm trying to stay ahead, but still, my brain is understaffed. I'm running graveyard shifts, but I might be digging my own grave. Who needs to spare a soul when they say mine needs to be saved? They're calling me depraved because they think I've misbehaved, but shadows don't know shit beyond a simple silhouette. They like to claim they gamble when they've never placed a bet. I've bet my fucking livelihood on things they've never felt, just trying every single goddamn day to be myself.  I'm dressed all dapper, suit's a snapper, but my eyes are neon. They glow brighter than signatures all written out in crayon. You like to be all vintage, but I'm meant for this new eon. I'll warm you up and chill you down; I'm made of fucking freon. I'm built out of the bricks thrown by the great ...

The children were all hungry. The children were all tired. The children were all angry. The children were all wired. The children couldn't sleep despite how sleepy they all were. They couldn't keep their food down, even though their stomachs purred. The children cried, the children wailed, the children spat and screamed. And when they all at last dozed off, they never really dreamed. The children all stayed hungry, and yes, they all stayed tired. And not a moment's rest for us, who drove on all the while.