(dedicated to my past anxiety)
You’re my favorite city light, my favorite paper cut.
For my every “if”, you have a concerned “but…”
And I don’t adore you that much when you cut my wings –
Yet you make my loneliness feel like gatherings.
(Maybe we weren’t the kings?)
Where did the time go while I stood perfectly still?
How come all the pages were burned in the paper mill?
You might not realize but it hurts – writing this verse,
Shouting at my future sliding before me in reverse.
(I must revenge the curse.)
Don’t mind me being foolish over another day.
My nerves are made of glass, my heart – of clay.
Correct me if I’m slurring through all the skull fractures,
I’m just learning this feeling was manufactured.
(Kill if ever captured.)
You’re my city of sin, my ghost town of innocence.
Every hope you mask with a crooked camera lens,
Shoot me twice in the chest, then wave the white flag.
The past seems fake, echoes are starting to lag.
(Fire, take out that drag.)
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 