My Cardboard Balcony

Geppetto's Sick Imagination by Belinda Roddie These strings have pulled my limbs together too tightly for long enough. I'll dance for you only tonight, and in the morning, I'll lie limp like the splintered puppet you want me to be. Then, once you cut my fibers thin, I'll find a new love in dance again, and I'll spin until I'm dizzy enough to see stars for the first time since Father built me out of scraps of Mother Nature's womb. Birth me again in the light of seven moons, and maybe soon, I'll feel like a real boy for the first time, despite your plaintive sighs for something to manipulate to make your old bones feel more goddamn alive.

It is so, so very tempting right now to chug an entire bottle of Fireball and do cartwheels until I tumble off a bridge into the deepest part of the bay. There, I will become a drunken mermaid - the most intoxicated of them all - and eat starfish and drink brine for the rest of my days. Because let's get serious here: The world above the water is a bit too warm, and a bit too noisy, and just full of really, really nasty people.

Now This Is Paradise by Belinda Roddie Adam was made out of straw, and Eve wore a spine layered with brick. Together, they built a barbed wire fence around Eden to keep the snakes out, and once Adam blew away in the wind, Eve found Lilith and loved how she was forged from the finest steel.

I wanted to invite Stacey to my party, but she was sick with the flu. I wanted to invite Tracey to my party, but she had to study for a test the following Monday and couldn't be disturbed. I want to invite Lacey to my party, but she had been secretly recruited on an undercover mission to assassinate the president of some country I hadn't heard of named Satvania, and she wouldn't be back until the deed was done and "Winter had fallen across Europe." So I guess that was a valid excuse.

Thoughts And Prayers by Belinda Roddie I know for sure you're praying, praying for Las Vegas, praying for the country lovers, their families and friends. I know for sure you're praying, praying that the bullets stop spraying for just a while so you can focus on the "more important" things. You say you're praying on TV so that the people hear your voice. You type a prayer out in a handful of characters 'cause a tweet just can't be beat. Don't forget to feed the rest of the social media maws hungry for sound bites. And you make damn certain to leave a sentimental lipstick stain on every journalist's derriere. And I'm sure that you're still praying, praying for Las Vegas. God knows they need more words while people scream over logistics. The man is not a terrorist, and liberals are to blame. AR-15s keep on getting sold, and we play the same old game. While the numbers keep on rising, and the wounded keep on dyin...

I hope we're not falling back into an every other day pattern, but unfortunately, no update on the OneWord website today. Le sadness.

I saw her reflection in the glass, fading quickly away. I reached out for her hand, but it was nothing but particles of dust collected in the air. As I hovered around the mirror, I felt the warmth of the morning on my back again; soft, sensitive rivulets of light tiptoed their way into the room, leaving their fingerprints and paintings along the carpet. I felt my knees sink into the red plush, and softly, I began to weep.