Month: Jan 2020

Three Moments in Time

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The angriest words I’ve ever spoken are “I hope you die” –

I muttered them to myself like it mattered, in a poorly lit bathroom,

and it all went cold but I couldn’t cry.

Four months prior life stabbed me in the back, and so did stability.

I thought it might get better, but hope is a special kind of facility

which I escaped when my family lost its civility.

Now seven years have gone by, I’m still searching for a peace of mind –

peace that feels so real and unfiltered, like love at first sight,

you know, when your pieces are aligned, everything is so well-timed.

Exactly that kind.

***

Back when I had daydreams so dark they turned into insomnia,

I stayed up reading old books between cigarette ash caused euphoria.

The days felt cloudy. But, I swear, no one noticed a thing.

Coffee and mascara hid the fact that death wish and I had a fling.

Whatever chilled me to the bone was what I loved the most

Because at eighteen I learned that you can’t fix your life in post.

To be honest, this still scares me – yet the time is running out

But it’s not kind to those who mess around with so much doubt.

Time judges – especially what you make it about.

“You tout, tout, tout…”

***

It was two autumns ago I last stepped on the scale.

After 6 years of fighting the numbers got stale,

They didn’t entice me with illusion of worthlessness,

But, damn, they managed to sting, nonetheless.

I can’t recall the last time I called myself unlovable.

Maybe I’ve just become difficult or impossible?

But still intense, caring, true and deserving –

For whatever comes next, I’m still preparing,

I’m learning.

It’s rationality I lack when it comes to forgiving my brokenness.

My worst fear is waking up at square zero, this I confess.

The most loving words I say are “I hope you push through” –

I mutter them to myself like they matter because now I know

They do.

-JW

Your Vows: An Abuser’s Battle Cry

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Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels

With my right hand I’ll hold yours so tight it’ll numb,

And my left hook will christen you a cheater and scum.

I’ll gaslight your way and pave it with malice

So your tears will submissively fill my chalice.

Through your laughter I’ll twist two truths in a lie

Until joy feels repellent, like a parasite.

I’ll feast on your principles, bite and unnerve.

But your worst fear – I think I’ll have served as dessert.

Forever I’ll love you and hold you so closely

As chokehold is not forbidden. Well… Mostly.

I’ll carry your struggles and kiss them array,

I won’t notice the moments you push me away,

And I’ll climb and I’ll triumph, and take what is mine –

Why wouldn’t it be? You said pain feels fine.

What a time.

***

I will steal every last bit of mind that you own

and your credit cards, and your telephone.

Every thought and decision I promise to carry,

only to stop when you’re dull and plain, and simply ordinary.

You don’t need to go home when I am your temple,

your start and your end, don’t be sentimental.

Your resentful cries won’t ever be heard.

Blurred. You’ll become so blurred.

***

With these vows I take your life

To be my lawfully wedded butcher knife,

To care for you when I need it for survival.

But when I don’t, you’ll carry me like an

assault riffle.

Revolution’s not coming

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Photo by Sides Imagery

Days viciously surging with bargained peace offers.

Day in and day out I want out of this office.

The glass cage with razor light making my head spin –

Caffeine makes me love the sinner, and the sin.

Repeat and run faster through vices of needy,

Negotiate deals like it’s your Paris treaty.

Easy. Your worst enemy is also a friend –

There’s no companionship though when money’s well spent.

Comprehend — only anarchists live their days without loyalty,

But even Godwin’s son ended up teaching royalty.

So you better strike down revolutions in making –

Free will is the fantasy of your own faking.

-JW

The Monsters You Love

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Photo by Nicolas Postiglioni

The first one will bury your mind’s worst graveyards,

He’ll dig to cement some sense in your broken parts

to make boulevards. Or counterparts.

Serving him proves your desire and the remarkable skill,

Yet they seem not to notice the sadness and the sleeping pills.

(From now on will call the suicide attempts

unconfirmed kills.)

The second one’s someone with a magnetic field,

He’s the one to attract, you’re the one to shield.

Although well aware he’s the one to cause trauma,

He’ll blame you for wasted love and for drama.

His presence will haunt you and swallow your pride

(because months back you wanted to be his bride).

The last one will stay, through harsh and through mellow,

She’ll change dark blue into canary yellow.

You won’t notice, but one day she’ll pack and she’ll run,

And your curses will feel like a midnight sun

To her disappearing silhouette,

Dead set, like the day we met.

***

My brain is a wasteland for your bitterness

And your bites, so vain, stink like helplessness.

Yet you manage to stain every fragment and pore.

Yes, your words turn me into another whore,

A slave for money, still so goddamn poor.

The loneliness unwraps, it’s hollow and soar.

Run to the door. Slowly, my dear, a little bit more.

When the breeze hits your face, the fanfares of escape will roar

Bullets will cover my sloop of war.

***

I haven’t yet met a monster so unlovable:

That sentence in it self is disprovable

Yet probable.

Ironical.

Shades of Blue

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Photo by Burak K

Lately I haven’t been mentioning you that often

Or how one darn smile could make all the tension soften.

I haven’t been sharing our jokes — and that’s good, I suppose.

Your laughter’s translucent. I feel like I loved a ghost.

These days I barely remember the uneasy feeling,

The heaviness, crumbling pain, white wine on the ceiling.

Dragged my knees through the streets, painted them shades of blue,

But now the pink glass has shattered — and my worst instincts, too.

Often I see you reaching for solace through my front doors

But I’m no longer a kid and that makes you insecure

About what it is you did to make me despise your guts.

I would tell but I’ve got no interest to save you from ruts.

Way back you filled my thoughts to the point of aspersion.

I didn’t recognize myself, that was a different version,

A rip-off of me and everything that I stand for.

But, sure, you can privately call it ‘flirt to strengthen the rapport’.

Lately I haven’t been talking about you daily

Or how you abused me and then made the lines seem hazy.

I don’t have time for your acts — and that’s great, I’m proud.

My laughter’s all rapturous. Backbone remains unbowed.

Kingdom, On Fire

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Photo by Connor Danylenko

The castle of tired hope keeps growing

while the kingdom around has fallen.

The black smoke rises and it’s snowing

grey dust. Is it too late to call in?

To call you? And let the silence murmur,

Let the abandoned dreams float ahead….

Damn, this daydream keeps gripping me firmer,

So tight, almost like it wants me dead.

This mirage of beacon is not a lighthouse

I would so desperately need to survive the storm.

But I must suffer to fully espouse,

To wear this blue tattooed body as uniform.

***

The morning will reveal our secret’s with its mist.

If we don’t carry our hopes quicker, our thoughts will twist,

Even the feelings clenched up in our fists.

Didn’t you know already? Not everything dead

is greatly missed.

Overkill // My love

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Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric

Feast away on my defective pieces.

I don’t want them. I don’t care.

It’s enslavement anyways

to be this bare,

to put my soul on the ground where your dirty feet walk,

to put it on the kitchen floor and drag through some broken glass

like it’s sidewalk chalk.

***

Don’t you dare to talk, you ass,

the deep rumbling of your voice is such a bitter pill.

you lost the chance to speak to me when you broke my will,

the one I found shattered by bathroom door all those years ago…

What an overkill,

my love,

that autumn when your smile could make flowers grow

I swore that I’ll never hate, and I’ll take it slow.

But here I am, four hundred days later, crumbled to the bone,

And you’re crushed.

Closer than ever, yet feeling alone,

the adrenaline rush,

it’s long gone.

Goodbye, my friend,

take care, I hope your soulless body finds a home

when you wake up disliking yourself without me,

yet I don’t pick up the phone.

I’ll be far out of zone

where your white lies can’t reach,

where you can’t find

the unmarked headstone.

Alone.

Be Still

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The last time I wrote you I loved you so blind,

you, of all people, not the rest of your kind…

Had my mind in your palm and your teeth in my chest,

god, I was sure that you’re worse than the rest.

A substance I’ve tasted for the very first time.

And for what? So for the rest of my life I can no longer pretend

that I’m fine?

you’re toxic and drinking your poison is painful

But day in and day out you say — I should be grateful

Don’t need the next cigarette, daydream or drink

But it’s numbing my pain so I don’t have to think

About future, or money or castles of gold,

F*ck, I swear — this is how you’re last lover was sold

A fantasy of certainty and safety.

Where is she?

…

Where am I?

Or to quote Placebo –

where is my mind?

The feeling of losing someone so dear is way better

than being lost and only tasting the bitter

Intoxicating poison you raise in my throat…

Let me choke, oh, please, just let me choke.

And let me out of the choke-hold so frozen and evil,

your hands are no longer the good place, their grip so tight

it’s barely legal.

Lethal.

You’re stare reminds of a dusty poison ivy leaf,

The green eyes to kill for — they will kill me in my sleep.

…

Halsey serenaded some crystal green irises in her latest song,

And don’t understand me wrong,

I would still write a ballad about yours,

Filled with late night angst

and swear words…

It would still be yours, imperfect and fragile, and crazy,

Just like the author, irrelevant, hazy,

Teachable, but a slow learner and a quick burner,

The artsy and weird kind, you know, not a head-turner.

She will, however, stay close to your righteous and distant self,

Not because she’s courageous or looking for help.

There’s no help to be found while you bury her fading will,

and yet, she still see’s the emerald eyes and goes –

Be still, my beating hard, be still.

– JW

Evolve // Deep blue forest

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Pitiful words have made me so utterly manic

Should I lay there or should I f*cking panic?

Closed eyes sunken through the half lies,

You swallow destiny and the pale highs

With your poor disguise.

You’re fake as well but it’s not a concern

It’s rather a turn,

A twist to your ego so friggin centric,

Don’t ever try to call ME selfish.

…

Please burn me at midnight, in a meadow of the deep blue forest

with the rest of my witch coven, the ones that ain’t modest.

If you don’t mind, my scent will stay there to hover

Between the dark trees like a long lost lover.

We don’t take cover. We won’t sink lower.

The smoke will show a way to our blackest abyss,

Not all who wander are lost, yet ignorance is bliss

And the straightest way to hell is paved with the best intent.

…

Honey, just hold me tight while the flames take away my pretend.