Month: Feb 2021

Mirror Wounds

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They say “beauty fades” but only when I’m fully disarmed.

The gnashing teeth near my cheek, meaning nothing but harm.

They make paper planes out of magazines, then fly them my way

Until I weep those bright ads with seamless smiles into my rosé.

Even in my dreams the harmful words chase down my pride,

Telling me I’m great as is and also – which parts of me to hide.

It’s never enough products unless it’s too much for their taste.

It’s the same standard for everyone, but you can’t simply copy/paste.

And I wonder whether this is the most isolating of feelings –

Slashing yourself in the mirror with words until you’re bleeding.

But they repeat “beauty fades” like it would make it less painful

When their teeth sink into my skin the next time

They call my mirror wounds distasteful.

-JW

Lips Of A Crowd

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I enjoyed our love much better when I saw it on TV,

With pre-written sentiments and romance

Measured in electric scenes.

I wish it was harder to move onto the next faked paradise.

But the promised lands keep rising

So I refuse to compromise.

I wish I was sorry, I wish you could hire all the best critics.

They would promise you that it’s fine

To never share the writing credits.

What you offered in shine, you held back in desired solace.

I bet nowadays you laugh at those who ask

What it means to be honest.

Maybe some great stories are not supposed be this loud,

And it’s better we ruptured quickly

Between the lips of a crowd.

-JW

Unwanted Appreciations

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Roaring applause is sweeping the halls, just roaring applause.

Where most saw a green light, I took a silent pause.

The lungs stopped expanding, they collapsed within me,

One final attempt by the sadness to gracefully kill me.

And some electric bolts shot out my holographic shoes.

You could easily find me if you followed the blues.

There’s a clock in my body right where most hearts lie.

It counts the times I’ve split my chin open and apologized.

The crowds get louder but my feet is fleeing the scene.

The rocks in my pockets dance like some cursed fiends.

But the sound of the claps still follows, even after dark.

Perhaps if I embrace their “thank yous”,

I won’t have to fight so hard.

-JW

History’s Greatest Heartbreaks

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Writing letters to the ghost of your face in my window never helped.

My pencil was sharp enough to kill a man

But I stabbed books on the shelves.

I carved harsh words into the rocks hiding at the deep end,

Wishing I could take a jab at you instead,

Just to let go of this empty feeling.

My starving mind exhumed the memories and made me look

As the skeletons of our love faded,

Turned into thieves and crooks.

But maybe evaporation’s more beautiful than combustion,

And not all the history’s greatest heartbreaks

End in a crime of passion.

-JW

The Things You Leave Behind

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Wish I could return your plain white T-shirts

To the hell loop where Satan caught three fevers.

The news call my exit a violent seizure

When you’ve barely loved me for two whole seasons.

Letters keep coming so I write off my pity,

Dry my hands in silk dresses from the long lost city.

Your bitter tears echo as my tongue grows slippy.

The diamonds you bought no longer fit me.

And I lock the gates, cover them in barbed wire –

In case I want to flee my soul and retire,

In case I seek out a gun for hire

To kill your belongings in a ceaseless fire.

Doesn’t mean I don’t have the means to do it,

To drown the reminders, all the nights in Munich.

But they won’t imbibe touline or lighter fluid

And I know one day I’ll profoundly rue it,

This abyss of my own wrong doing.

-JW

Humming

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I wish for a dreamless sleep,

I beg for a drugless lullaby.

Each time the covers bleed,

You don’t stay to apologize.

The window cries in chrome

And my pillows collect dust.

They say you can’t build a home

With pure anger and lust.

But I beg to differ, dear,

My heart sparks neon for you,

It trembles when you’re near,

When you make me into a fool.

So the sleep never comes,

The mind hums like a buzzed dame.

Still – out of all the loves,

I’d choose yours all the same.

-JW

Parting Papers Seas

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They’ve run out of fresh blood to add in the fountain pens

So the paper seas are grudgingly parting right in front of them.

The pages meld and tear, cut open everyone who passes.

Those who own the worthy trees, control the sleepy masses.

Their backpacks are empty but blind trust is all they need.

The system is the system, honest men don’t have to sleep.

Even when the sails catch their blues, they recklessly persevere.

The drifting boat feeds on everyone who dares to come near.

And we observe from the shore, hoping the waves will come,

Hoping the waters will evaporate those who only serve some.

Don’t call us naïve though, we know these paper seas cold –

Their surfaces drown empty pockets and only float in gold.

Yet – their ship keeps sailing, our legs are muddy up to the knees.

The future must be a promising concept when you do as you please.

But they’ve run out of fresh blood to add in their fountain pens

So our scalps are grudgingly parting right in front of them.

-JW

Yell The Name

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They called me back again when I was almost out of the door,

They begged me to look at their stolen pearls for a moment more.

But there is dirt behind their fingernails from all the digging,

The smell of fresh corpses lingering, the gift that keeps on giving.

Their chairs tied themselves to my calves so I couldn’t run away,

Just another nightmare they put me through to keep me awake.

My restless legs danced on hot coals, my hair kept greying.

The dirty palms in their pockets smirked, “You should be staying.”

It must’ve been a week or a month, I can barely remember.

Thoughts chained to the walls, door glued shut until next December.

Even when I regret ever looking back when they yelled my name,

I’ll wrap their pearls around my neck tomorrow, ready to play the game.

-JW

Call Me Once Your Tongue Is Buried

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The candles swing dangerously close to the crimson sunset,

They sweep away the clouds and leak wax onto lying pamphlets.

Perhaps the chains holding the chandelier will keep them stable

But I’m ready to bet they’ll break this ceiling to turn the tables.

As she watches the horizon, paper seas rise behind her eyes,

Nothing but dead trees below her feet, bruised in paints and dyes.

A single flutter of her lashes could set the whole skyline on fire.

The waters are churning frantically, coughing up worn out tires.

The crisp air holds in its breath, lets her say the words first.

She knows how to shatter a moment like a heavy cloudburst.

“For all the grey stones which I have swallowed and carried,

I curse you to only call me once your tongue is buried.”

And the seas stand back, the candles fade into the westerlies.

The sentences sink into the sun-baked ground with her yesterdays.

Only pitch black voids are left in the sky when she returns home

Ready to paint yet another vivid day leaden and monochrome.

-JW

When The Lights At The End Of Your Pier Go Out

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I wrote your number in my favorite book,

Folded it between the yellowing pages.

Only to remember I have to stay in the sun,

Only to remember where my rage is.

But your whispers follow me around sometimes.

They tell me phrases I want to hear.

You chose the darkest night to go silent,

You threw me into the waves from a pier.

Now I still carry this guilt like shackles,

Some days I use it as a carbon steel sword.

It takes all the power that I have gathered

To never kill myself with your words.

If one day my armour finally fails me,

I hope it traps you in unrepayable wages.

I wrote your number in my favorite book,

Burned the covers and ripped the pages.

-JW