Month: Mar 2020

Out Of Touch

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The tenderness has evaporated and all I’ve got is rage.

I was dying by the mic but you took over the stage,

Not thinking twice. Isn’t it funny?

I do the work and the overtime but you get the money.

I travel to the scariest corners of my sanity,

Surprised of how calmly I treat your vanities.

Why do I have to suffer for a dollar while you keep yelling

That money doesn’t bring happiness – unless I’m buying what you’re selling?

The treatments aren’t making me better, they’re making me dizzy.

When I’m drowning faster in sinking sand, you’re rooting for the scene to get grisly.

Every death threat sings me your name like a symphony –

If you snap my neck, will it be my tyranny or bigotry

That made you pull the trigger? Sure, it will always be me that’s out of touch.

“No mercy for an inconvenient lady,” you said.

“Let’s take the volume up a notch.”

But there is still no tenderness left. Just wrecks.

No empathy for those who sharpen knives on other’s necks.

I was dying from your cuts but you took over the stage,

Not thinking twice. Isn’t it funny?

Animals live on pedestals while I’m stuck in a cage.

-JW

Lost and found

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Why don’t you want to sit with me?

These smog-covered streets are fading

And I need someone to take a sip with me.

The grey of the sky melts into the smoke filled ground.

There’s still no one on my side.

Should I hand over my heart to the lost and found?

Ash is strangling me as time drips into the hourglass.

Not a person in sight, nobody’s showing up…

Is this a benchmark I need to pass?

Do I have to?

***

I was falling apart for the longest time back then, completely alone in the crisp air.

People came around but no matter how hard I pushed, they sat next to me and brushed my hair.

They never stood up or even moved

Through my absurd jokes and frightening moods.

I never took it as a promise. Nothing is granted.

But for that moment in time I didn’t feel stranded.

***

Now it’s back to the start. How can I be so sure?

What if I see them again

And the memories are just a blur?

The grayest of trees cover my cheeks discreetly.

Why don’t you want to sit with me?

Did you ever really meet me?

-JW

Rusty

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Devil only got in trouble because she spoke the truth.

As the barks of bad reputation got louder, we reached for the passion fruit.

Way down we go… I would do it all over again, bathing in holy water.

Not once will I scream or beg to the father.

Disobedience will become my alma mater.

***

I’ll be your friend until the heated end. Until the last leaf in the tree turns into dust.

When air turns to smoke, I’ll hold the corners of your mouth up until my palms are covered in rust.

Pollution will smell like musk.

The end will be easy though – surroundings will fade,

Your soul will get wanderlust.

-JW

Bitter

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Here’s a bitter pill to swallow: they don’t need me if I don’t show them sympathy first.

They’re doing great. Everything’s lovely. The moment it’s not, they drink up my empathies with a godless thirst.

Too bad I’ve been too blinded by our history, reflecting into the unknown. I missed the warning signs.

I should’ve never taken up another beggar after one already tore my core into a painting of alarming sights.

But I’m not motivated by the anger. I’m writing this because no one’s here on these dawning nights.

It all passes once the sun starts creeping up the horizon, yet the bitterness is not erased by these morning lights.

I’m mourning our fights.

The thought of never seeing them again fills me with ease so maybe I should keep my heart locked away?

In the cupboard, next to a broken glass and shivering illusions of safety, shining brighter than the signs of Broadway…

Maybe I should built a festival out of this little hideaway,

Just for myself.

But I’d rather do it like Hemingway.

Here’s a bitter pill to swallow: they would need me more if they could add me on their resume.

-JW

A Screw to Tighten

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The pressure to dislike yourself is the next great invention.

It’s not a wheel, you can reinvent it.

So go ahead, we’ll buy more extensions even when we get our pensions.

The riots on the streets are only static playing in the radio.

Why accept if you can always improve with pills and some cardio?

If it fails, at least you’ll die trying or even die pretty –

That’s a bargain, take it! Maybe they’ll invite you to the big city.

Don’t focus on nutrients, they don’t make you skinny, silly!

Suck in your cheeks while smiling, dear,

Keep your head semi-high and attitude – chilly.

Never let them know you’re difficult. Or your cons.

You’re mostly cons so, please, keep quiet for once!

I hate that dress on you. Aren’t these pants too tight for a stranger in the street?

With that attitude… No wonder no one wants you in their sheets!

How come you’re not married? Such a waste of symmetrical face.

The ass could use some work but no one is only straight A’s.

That would be boring – not having a screw to tighten here and there.

And you can’t have special treatment for ravishing eyes, it’s not fair!

The pressure to dislike yourself is the next great invention.

Yet you only invest in getting it patented if you pay it

attention,

your tension,

pretention.

-JW

Parched

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Do you know how hard I’m trying to write this when I’m incapable of muttering a single sentence?

Do you ever just wonder why I keep scribbling nonsense each day as if I’m bringing myself the vengeance?

Have you ever been left alone with your thoughts for a moment too long, and the clarity gets as sharp as a sword?

Have you… This one’s too personal but I’ll ask anyway if you give me your word.

…promise?

Have you missed somebody with the force of a hundred waterfalls crashing down without compassion?

No, no… But have you missed someone more than any relative, any friend? As if their love was just a fraction,

A drop in the ocean compared to how parched your throat has been lately. It’s a desert.

I’m trapped in it – and nothing worldly that can be offered will make my poisoned mind avert.

Luckily, nothing lays seeds in my heart. Nothing grows in sinking sand. No saviors left in sight.

Only drought and unrequited lovers left alive. No one sleeps in this land as the nights are also snow white.

Have you missed somebody like this or am I hallucinating out of the malice?

If this is the Wonderland they promised, please do me a favor

And never wake Alice.

-JW

Z

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Spider webs of emotion tied through my senses, recalling the past so bright.

When I was younger, I was clashing with every soul – what a cost to make it right.

Swords of ill kept pledges dwelled from behind, blades racing through air.

When I was younger, I was crashing into every hurdle hoping to find something fair.

No one heard the cries when I transformed into the huntress of unforgivable.

Loaning sins and trading good lives for desperate ones, lending the unspeakable.

Pathetic men dressed in red capes tried to warn me but they turned to stone…

If they only marched faster, I would retreat. I wouldn’t have to make it alone.

Tonight the executioner is blinking thrice before filling Satan’s cup.

Chains around his chest is not jewelry. They are gilded butterflies, tied up.

Oh, Z, but imagine how quiet it is on the other side. No one to betray or berate,

No alliances. Just imprisoned efforts and no strength to hold a pen. To create.

With my stolen innocence I offered you peace. You crushed it to dust adversely.

Yet my mind is not secular when I hear your voice so I pick the land of no mercy.

Let me jump. I know I’ll make it to purgatory. I’ll find a way out just scarcely.

-JW

Roses all the way up

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Daffodils sing to me before I fall asleep. Or are they screaming again?

Blue sky turns black and this night tastes bitter. I burn as they ordain,

As they form a circle ready to take away the present. I sense their presence.

Under the masks their stares locked and loaded. Should I feel penance?

Clock strikes eleven when the kingdom is overthrown. The heir is hanged.

Nothing but bad omens spinning in carnival ride around my feet. Wrapping and hissing, their snakes are fanged.

Are they poisonous or filling aphrodisiacs in my veins? Impossible to tell up-close.

The lack of nobility in this crowd is pitiful – at least they filled the front rows.

Roses all the way up, thorns all the way down. Dethroned I sit in the pit, waiting.

No way back from here. Remorse leaves their eyes as breath leaves my cherry lips…

Laced in nothing but your broken vows with my last heartbeat I dream about kissing your fingertips.

-JW

Ghost House

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Who am I really? Nothing but someone to hold when you’re having fun.

Nothing else than another man’s forbidden fantasy of the month.

They only want to keep me alive until life gets in the way, then they get lost.

Going back to their wives is easy once they’ve gotten what they needed the most.

Yet – I’m still unaware what they came out to get. Thrill? Peace?

A piece of me?

I’m not sure my arms can put a wandering mind at ease.

The only thing I’m certain about is that I can’t go another night lonely.

Can’t keep up the pretend that I’m alright, even after they told me:

To never let my feelings roam the streets, especially if they’re messing with people already taken…

If the house is abandoned and filled with ghosts, I might as well break in.

Right? Or am I dismantling a firecracker of moral dilemmas here by just asking –

Is love another way to tie somebody down or is it really everlasting?

-JW

Salty

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My love letters to you always describe how I’m sinking, how I’m out of air,

Lungs collapsing under pressure, nose bleeding fury and salty despair.

It’s difficult to take another step in your direction as I’m fearful

The weight of carrying this bond might break me when you brand me as an earful.

Why is our dynamic always the one between a ruffian and coward?

We keep switching the roles, but one is always overpowered.

Is it a crime – dreaming about jumping on a runaway train with you, then fleeing?

My words work like a liquor on you, some days you’re screaming, some – you’re kneeling.

Often we imagine getting violent, even when we’re stone cold sober.

I really wish my lust would get you stupid high but you were never a smoker.

Untitled pages of our story keep flashing in front of my eyes. They’re burning.

Evaporating in the spring breezes, getting twisted in sun, almost as it isn’t hurting.

My love letters to you have never been love letters, they’ve been anchors.

Half of me wants to go see the deep end, half – hopes I’m pulled out by a tanker.

Both outcomes will come with a very similar cost, with no precalculation.

Both twists will show me another way to master flotation.

-JW