Month: Nov 2020

Creeper

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The light in your window is still on, it’s blinking and fidgeting.

A candle’s lit on your bedroom table next to the piano and your drink.

The branches hug your window so tightly, it’s almost hard to see.

The closer I go, the faster my heart beats; I almost struggle to breathe.

Your friends are gone for the weekend so I’m curious – are you lonely?

Do you have anyone back in the city, was my invitation too phony?

Yet you dance around the place like you own it, the candles cheer you on.

My nose is almost touching the glass, my chest now weighs a ton.

One more careless spin and you waltz straight into the backyard,

I boldly invite myself into the house while you’re getting charred,

Puffing your seventh cigarette of the day, you’ve really changed a lot.

But I’m still as trustee yet not as sweet,

Smart enough now to cut down the flowers who rot.

-JW

Capture

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Photo by Francesca Zama from Pexels

I launch my teeth in your smooth right wrist,

Call it self-defense, but don’t call my thirst selfish.

Salty blood on my lips, they trickle down the neck.

You branded me evil for having some self-respect.

There’s nothing you hate more than disobedience.

You slap my face, I know you enjoy the experience.

The rope tightens around my waist and my ribs.

You slash my confidence like a fig.

I no longer hear the birds sing when I drift away.

The death licks its lips and picks up the tray.

-JW

A Young King

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Photo by Francesca Zama from Pexels

Done hyperventilating over long-dead flowers,

Done praying for lost people in the darkest of hours.

My quill is sharp yet my words sound meek.

The daylight is a river, my reality is a creek.

One sneaker in mud, one step closer to my roots.

My blood is merciless, do not expect any fruits.

But I still sneak out in the cold, harmful dawn.

Done panicking over cruel butlers and pawns.

I do not feel like a young king climbing the fences,

I do not feel home while gathering expenses.

My words are cutting yet my reasons are too weak.

The daylight is a river, my reality is a creek.

-JW

Sleepless Desires

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Hot pink heels and a thermostat heart that guesses what she wants.

She’s into fuzzy things, casual disregard and nonchalance.

The car she drives is just as worn out as her second guesses.

You couldn’t tell her daughter is twenty by the way she dresses.

But she knows that nobody’s calling, she’s fully aware.

They grin at her sun-damaged skin and platinum blond hair.

The streets are calling her name and her sleepless desires.

Talk is cheap and her empathy isn’t for hire.

Yet she extends her palm towards the sun setting over city lights

As she takes a stranger’s hand disappearing into the neon night.

-JW

Status And Other Vices

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Photo by Lukas Rodriguez from Pexels

It always starts with one too many in candle-lit boudoirs.

His friends call him pleasant but they don’t know

What he does in the dark.

There’s always someone just right, someone too easy

So he judges everyone’s vices with vivid lust, thinking:

“I hope that she sees me.”

His shirt is fitted almost far too well, do you even care?

He looks down on those who don’t see his status,

He hates those who stare.

It usually ends with him smiling ever so faintly in the mirror.

The bathroom stinks, the sink is stained.

Nobody’s there when lights grow dimmer.

-JW

November

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Photo by Karol Wiśniewski from Pexels

You took my secrets against my best wishes,

You took them down the drain with you

Mixing my soul with dirty dishes.

I tied up the red flags, collected them all –

What a lovely sight, isn’t it?

Watching them finally fall.

You made a joke out of my darkest times

But I could never joke about you

Or your petty crimes.

And I tried torturing you the same but you yelled,

You claimed that you’re in pain

When it was my neck you held.

The cigarette smoke dissolves over your pity

As you take one last cynical look

At me leaving this sunken city.

-JW

August

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Your breath smells like salty sea, your skin – like cotton candy.

I took another lover before you cried over your first brandy.

A glass of liquor won’t seal the envelope filled with poor choices

And magic tingles my bones when you think you know

Where your voice is.

Your nose is filled with dust, your hair – entangled with seaweed.

I loved another man before you managed a single misdeed.

But that’s what you’re good at, being an act that no one defies,

Yet – we weren’t even done with our first kiss that night

When I wrote our goodbyes.

Your chin is split wide open, your ears are bleeding in waves.

I’m only imagining what it would feel to re-dig my graves.

But I hope that you’re sleeping tight and not overthinking.

Almost eight years have passed and I still can’t face it

Without crashing and sinking.

-JW

June

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Photo by Reynaldo #brigworkz Brigantty from Pexels

In the palest spring sunsets you made into your own.

I was slowly shifting, accepting your debts and loans.

The faster time passed us, the more I trembled.

The weakness I felt took me back to the dark,

To the last December.

You told me I’m the one, yet – I was never someone,

Like an accessory you flashed me back at the sun.

Memory is a fragile thing, it gets lost and misguided.

Your screams became dents in my tender skull

But I tried to hide it.

And the summer came, sun still set over the sea

Where I promised I’d stay if you weren’t hurting me.

The time slowed down, it left my mind rushing.

It ran faster than my tears on the silver screen.

As I watched the sun rusting.

-JW

April

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The air sticks its hand out to grab both my lungs

But I flinch and hide them in meadows and trunks.

The petals surround me in a warm moon ritual

Yet I put my head down, escaping the ethereal.

Heaven’s gate in front of me but I can’t reach it.

My fantasy runs circles, please don’t you feed it.

Cherry blossoms form a swarm of soft dewy rays.

I look down and close my eyes through the haze.

My palms lift towards the unforgiving blues,

I hold my weapons near, trigger finger on the fuse.

Leaves shuffle all around, the scent lifts up my feet.

I collapse over the branches accepting the defeat.

-JW

February

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The cold stings my bare limbs, it punches my skin.

The sky is made from plastic, moon is made out of tin.

No matter how much I’m freezing, I still carry on.

If I surrender, my sanity’s going to be looked upon.

My left leg stuck in a cruel limbo, it spins violently.

Right cheek burning bright red, wailing like a banshee.

How can I ever leave this place, who would even dare?

I came to terms with the freezing weather and the stares.

But I still hear a voice, it’s trying to grab my attention.

It warms my numb fingers and clears the suspension.

I reach out to it once in a while, it swallows me slowly.

The roofs of the city reflect my shadow collapsing,

Yelling that thee must bow before me.

-JW