Month: Jan 2021

Stepping Out

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The cheeks blush with crimson rage

As I step out of this rusty cage

To face the music, the false prodigies,

But nobody’s there awaiting me.

The time stands still, it’s almost poetic –

They kept my life highly hectic

As a sorry attempt to confuse me,

To make me less of a human.

They restrained me through battles

So I return to inspect the shackles.

All I see are some black dahlias,

All the betrayals become obvious.

Bars and wires melt at my sight

Deflating this cage left out of light.

My knuckles shake in fatigue

Yet – I close the doors

With a sigh of relief.

-JW

Framing Her Name

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She shaves her head and clips off her wings,

Readies her limbs, sells all ruby rings.

The embroidered clothes fall into flames.

“I won’t be needing gowns for dames.”

There’s a spot between the nearby roofs

Where her heavy head goes hunting spooks.

But tonight the chest fills up with dread,

The body seems to be glued to the bed

And iron chains are holding down her name

So it can’t be lifted and put in a frame.

“No change is easy, let the fire pass through.”

She sinks into the pillows,

Lets her spirit throw a coup.

-JW

The Judge

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Spent another day in my own basement letting the rain dull my thoughts,

Arranging a courtroom in my unfair mind, bowing to rusty metal gods.

I hear the jury sitting down upstairs, I hear the judge using his new gavel.

My brain’s ushered away to be used as evidence in this case yet to unravel.

The court proceedings fill me with dread, they’re agonizingly numbing.

Yet – my spite’s done with beatings so I choose to abuse thy cunning.

I watch my mouth spew sharp arguments, all based on years of correcting me.

They dig deep even though I promised to never call myself an enemy.

My tongue splatters acidic liquids over the already damaged wallpaper

And the windows shatter in deadly pieces, ready to let me meet my makers.

The body’s giving in to the pressure so I really start wondering – how come?

Why do I keep fixing the floors and ceilings if I still call this palace a slum?

But you know the answer, and so do I.

The judge catches me in a terrible lie

I’m bound to another day down here,

Self-imprisoned, ready to disappear.

-JW

Revenge

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The word tastes so bittersweet on my tongue,

Looks good on paper in an illuminated room.

I’ve perfected these plans ever since I was young

And you trapped yourself not a day too soon.

What do we have here? A cheap skin sack

Laced with a smidge of my own blood type.

A third rate man with a bow on the back,

Shimmery, yes, but never worth the hype.

So I look under the trembling, leaking lids,

Trying to make sense of the six years of pain.

Everything’s there, mental jitters and skids,

But I know how you love to show fake feign.

I pull your chair closer, I lift up your chin.

Your neck cracks in a despicable way.

The drops of sweat cover your grey skin

Therefore you’re aware I came to play.

But the moment I uncover my angry wrist

To scratch your sinful heart of teak,

The alarm punches my sleep with both fists

And I never get the revenge

I’ve been destined to seek.

-JW

Picking Wildflowers

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There’s a meadow I visit in the loneliest of hours,

A meadow I disguised so it could be just ours.

I walk through it barefoot even when the bees sting,

Even when the peace is over and a blade is the king.

My basket fills with various poisonous flowers.

I pluck them ‘til I run out of my made-up powers.

Then I set the sunny field on fire with my hexes,

Sparks flying violently from my solar plexus.

The leaves burst into diamonds and crescent moons

Highlighting the dimness of these pale noons.

And I waltz back home through the deep forests

Wishing my wildflowers will make a man honest.

There I get my pipettes and spatulas in order –

I bought these after you called me a hoarder.

Drop by drop the deadly mixture comes alive.

My mind is buzzing roaringly like a hive.

And you beg for forgiveness but I can’t hear,

I get high on the sound of your worst fear.

So I hold the goblet and ask you once more:

“Who are you to rob me of all the valour?”

-JW

Our Clocks

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A week before we met I was writing suicide notes on silver displays.

A week before we met I drifted neck deep into a greyish haze.

But you were unaware when you opened the filthiest of my stiches,

You were inadvertently smoothing out some colossal bugs and glitches.

What began as a joke, ended in you sewing together a hopeless bleeder.

I didn’t know how, I didn’t know why, and you didn’t know it either.

But I plucked the thought of us out of my head without second guessing,

Said I fixed it myself in order to keep my lying bones from confessing.

I fought it hard, yet soon enough – I drank from the gilded chalice.

Your eyes became the rotten green light to my Gatsby’s palace.

And, damn, I loved you. I loved you like I’ll never love another man.

The melody of your laughter composed symphonies in my tired head.

The closer we grew, the quieter the world around our lives became.

Neither one of us seemed to mind if you and I remained the same…

A week after you held me, they exchanged our sky lanterns for rocks.

A week after you held me, they tore us apart for palladium blocks

And they obliterated all our calendars,

All our clocks.

-JW

Red

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The Red is piercing my skin and pushing furious tentacles out of my neck.

With every heartbeat the scene turns brighter, I’m caught in a self-made wreck.

The green contact lenses I’m wearing can’t hide the pressure raising within,

I know my eyes glow in sultry carmine, I know I’ve lost my linchpin.

The nails click on surfaces, they dig into walls, they pull out my own hair.

The Red comes in waves and it leaves me crying for a chance to fight fair.

But they own my guts and let me sleep in them, too, just for another payday –

So I snap at myself for reasons unknown, convinced that I’m their prey.

The Red punishes me, it holds my nerve ends under deadly avalanches.

Fixing the damage feels like welding together burned and broken branches.

And soon enough every part of my torso is covered in a crown of flames

So I let the yet untamed Red out to play with its creators,

The instigators of my deep shame.

-JW

Losing You

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The trees take me in their arms and let my eyes wash away the sins.

The soft humming of the wind gives a shelter to this poor heart of tin.

And the forest comforts me but not like you, it doesn’t hold me tight,

It hears my curses and heals my aches but it’s not enough

To get me through the night.

The fog raises over the treetops, it covers all the mystical creatures,

The white mist lands on me in pity, sighs quietly like a preacher.

And I still feel a thousand times heavier with each step that I take.

My vain existence was a miniscule droplet but you –

You turned it into a lake.

The path right in front of me melts into shadows and silent alarms.

The pines surround me, they make me surrender the stolen arms.

And I resist to hand over my sharpest knives but they persist

By telling me how my own head’s a poison

And I’ll be missed.

The words are difficult to swallow so I burst into fiery laughter.

“The irony of it all, the one who ends it was also the starter.”

And I run for the edge but then stop just to fall on my knees.

A vision of your face pulls me back to ground

And for a second I feel peace.

-JW

The Weightless Crucifix

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But don’t you ever die on that hill, don’t ever ideate,

Don’t tell them you sold me down the river for something greater

Than your own shame.

I hope you don’t get a day off when it comes to internal scrutiny.

Oh, but I’m not cursing you, quite the opposite,

I’m only asking for equity.

Hope the heavens hear me this time, despite how I’ve sinned,

Hope they forgive me for all the gods

I’ve boiled and tinned.

And don’t you ever feel sorry when the cash isn’t cutting it, no.

Remember – you thought one day it’ll be easy

For me to let you go.

So take the advice and drown yourself in your crooked politics.

I choose to remember, you choose to play the fool

Dragging the weightless crucifix.

Carry on, may the light of all your good deeds guide your blissful way.

We both know far too well it’s a dark road

No matter how much you can pay.

-JW

Your Own Gravedigger

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The visions don’t stop arriving at the gate,

They fill my sizzling pockets, bate after bate,

Until there’s nothing to offer in exchange.

Then they burn their carriages in flaming rage.

The suspense tightens around my chambers,

Pulse rushes to conclusions, rips the papers.

My spine vibrates from all the vivid feelings

Thrown at my face from this leaking ceiling.

But the cemetery’s watching quietly, wisely,

It’s eyeing my carcass, “Oh, you entice me.”

The black birds chirp thrice before it begins.

My smile gets widened by a sharpened brim.

I keep waking and falling, and waking again.

There are carriages, carnages and a single amen.

The thoughts keep digging me an early grave,

And when engraving the headstone,

I hear them spelling my name.

-JW