Month: Apr 2020

Candy

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…Yet it becomes so apparent – when you meet the ones you’re so supposed to be with,

the ones you were looking for all along,

the ones you sought since the day you first felt cold…

And they will not think it over.

They will sit still through the storms.

But isn’t it funny…

The evident is always a little hidden in the truth.

During the best of times so many will put up a fight trying to convince you – they’re the ones you’ve lost.

Yet – you’ve known for too long to chase these fake tales of greedy love.

Because the ones you’re seeking don’t leave when it’s messy. They know you’re messy.

Once you find them

it is always just so apparent.

…

-JW

Fine

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Picking up the pieces after I exploded with rage wasn’t the hardest part.

It was more difficult to promise I’ll love you till death do us part.

I wouldn’t promise my endless, undying devotion to anyone, rest assured,

But you bent my neck so sharply I couldn’t breathe, and I felt cured.

Sewing my severed pieces together from scratch wasn’t annoying.

Boys will be boys; and it happened to be me, entering in the midst of them toying.

I wouldn’t forgive the scars on my pale, cold skin, yet I would forgive you –

It just seems better when he’s the one who harms, and also the one you screw.

Stitching my freshly spilled brain together from the bathroom walls is fine.

How come he was so patient? I had one drink too many. Or maybe nine?

I wouldn’t be alive today if he didn’t give me that steady push with a fist.

As soon as I saw red in my hair I knew I’ve made it into the naughty list.

It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I’ll take the risk.

-JW

619

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Mad at my friends, in love with the freedom.

Fallen deep into the eyes of a beautiful weirdo.

But maybe we’re strangers now? Maybe it’s equal?

The lust, the loathing… And now we’re at zero?

We dance two steps back, one inch forward.

My family calls but I can’t come over.

Too busy figuring out the difference between love and disorder.

Truth rains in drops but it feels like a shower.

-JW

Polygraph

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Stay. The polygraph is not painting the picture right.

I want to be in your arms. I’m not afraid of the height.

Crashing towards the asphalt, falling.

Hoping to see you down there. It’s appalling.

The fear is tearing a hole in my being but it’s deceiving.

I can’t leave you alone this evening.

Do you see through me that clearly? Is it a vision?

I’ve taken a feeling and made it into a prison.

The aluminum breathes on my limp body when I’m frightened.

Yet – whenever you call, this cage feels a million pounds lighter.

Stay. The charts are inaccurate. My chained heart made them.

Now it’s free to go, and I’m not asking for it to pay rent.

-JW

Tinseltown

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A-listers with bleached morals and dead eyes –

They munch on diamonds while I’m forced to eat led pies.

Lies. Sabotage. Saying I’m a carbon copy.

The next I know – he wants to make me into a trophy.

Is this the place losers are produced and turned into stars?

The slower they age, the faster they drive their cars.

Fake condolences mixed with beauty tips from the rotten.

Everyone without a dollar to their name trying to get their shot in.

“Hollywood infected your brain,” Marina sang in the rain.

It also spread through the bodies of many, even the sane.

But tinsels don’t cast a reflection in the darkest place.

Fabricated ideals remain untrue, even if manufactured in lace.

–JW

The Last Of My Standards

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A spritz of the spring touched my heated thoughts today.

A spur of the moment decision. I’m fleeing this town.

Tell your brother I said “hey”.

This weather brings back the skeletons I’d rather keep burnt.

The sweater I’m wearing can’t hold my self-pity again.

God, pass me another urn.

No space left to dig a grave for the next obsession gone awry.

No scales grand enough to weigh my remorse.

This won’t end alright.

These warm spring evenings are stealing the last of my standards.

The swarm of wasps filled with toxic love promises awake,

I’m gulping them down just like salamanders.

-JW

August Days

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Finger painting my own reflection, deflecting.

A voice is calling me but I find it vexing.

Palms covered in sparkles as temperature raises.

I’ve survived burns, I’ve survived blazes

But somehow this moment pierces my skin.

Do I fit the box that they put me in?

Colors on colors pour down my neck, down my back.

When I turn to look, it’s once again painted black.

Cryptic signs appear in the mirrors as I lay dying…

I’ll never get the picture just right, there’s no denying.

–JW

Tense

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Anxiety is making me choke on dry bones,

I spit up barb wire. I’m in there alone.

The pressure rings louder than my ears can take,

It’s unsettling. I’m in there alone and I mustn’t hesitate.

I can’t play it safe.

The crashes and wrecks continue to frighten

But the guards are awake so I’m keeping it silent.

My nails are scraping the floors and the vents.

Where is the end?

Every turn keeps coming back to yesterday’s events:

Two fingers of whiskey, three unpaid rents.

Your lungs made of glass, heart filled with gasoline.

Might get you high, might be a fast release.

I’m grabbing my own hair, pulling out grenade rings.

Would kiss a chainsaw just so I don’t have to think.

But you knew it already – my ego is made out of dangerous things.

If you escape the hellfire by jumping in water,

your boat will sink.

-JW

Buzzkill

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My father will never call me back again but I don’t mind.

Three years stuck in an infinite loop, butchered by my own emotions.

Feeling less than human. My demons were aligned.

I’m done gulping cheap flavors from shallow glasses like they’re potions.

I’m done being defined.

My father will never call me back again but it’s not my fault.

All that matters are people who will pick up the phone when it’s unpleasant.

It might be late or it might be inconvenient, yet they dare to open that vault

Without being compromised by the front that I present –

And it changes, but they stay through the halt.

My father will never call me back again, and sun rises at the east.

Accepting our truths does not mean we’re giving in. We’re far ahead.

Never in my life have I felt less lonely – look at all the weapons I’ve seized,

Built by my destructive heart that wished I was already dead…

Living is not a walk in the park, it’s a feast.

I will never pick up when my father calls. Let him choke on the ringtones and words never said.

-JW

Misdeeds

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Walking away from something you’ve broken entirely is human nature.

Hiding your brutality and violence into the bruises of another creature –

That’s how the best of us become preachers.

I don’t believe it’s just.

I cannot step away from a disaster even when it’s not mine, even when I must.

My first instinct is always taking away the knife and the gun from the person I trust,

Then torturing myself with them as if nothing happened – until they turn away in disgust.

How do you walk away from a damaged soul? How do you let it bleed?

I’ve slept on the cold, hard floor in order for you all to get some sleep.

Never been able to turn my back. I will take over the pain and lead.

I will finally accede to the fact that I’ve taken it too far when my knees become weak,

Yet you can stand up again, and that fulfills my greed.

Is this a virtue or another misdeed?

-JW