Month: Feb 2021

Heart For Dinner

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The tires of your car ruin the perfect peace and radio silence

As you approach with crocodile tears glued to your lids like diamonds.

There’s toxic spite in your back pocket, the antidote’s in my bag.

Your stare can only hurt me that far

With its raging red flags.

Birds are not chirping tonight, no, they’re flying for their lives.

But I always stayed, through all your nosebleeds and nosedives.

Now you thank me one last time by handing me the trigger,

Hoping I have what it takes to resist

Eating your heart for dinner.

The trees lean in and wait for me to make the final decision.

I do not rush, I let my fury pierce the air with marksman’s precision.

My words slide through your stiff chest like some lost shrapnel

As I leave you there imagining

That we never happened.

-JW

Shiny Enough

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Photo by Johannes Rapprich from Pexels

Sore gashes stitching themselves together

Under full moon, through freezing weather.

Some still fear the threads and needles

So they fall on the ground,

Pretending they’re feeble.

Shoes glued to the asphalt, nowhere to go,

Each wrongful movement makes you glow

And once you’re shiny enough to see

They’ll include you

In the next killing spree.

Silver liquids poured into scarlet eyes

Until the palest lips loudly apologize.

But those who don’t seem to ever learn

End up protesting

In an unlocatable urn.

-JW

The City Calls

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The walls within this sickly concrete sea monster always look too dull,

The faces are greyer than October sky, barely sticking to their skulls.

I bury all clues and shotguns where I know I’d never step my foot again

And blend in with the walls, breathing in fumes and fresh propane.

The lines are long but I’m used to waiting for an uneventful death.

Each humanoid figure around is the same – everything but a real threat.

We submissively march to the music and lower our eyes when it stops.

Some ashy buildings appear on the horizon just as my stomach drops.

I can sense the electric nervousness strings overtaking the numb crowd.

This is the moment we could run for cover – only if we were allowed.

Instead we brace for impact as cement fills the streets, we are tongue tied.

We’ve been taught since a very young age:

When the city calls, you must always be ready to die.

-JW

The Forest Is My Church

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Velvet winds soothe my battle scars in the navy blue moonlight,

My feet are enchanted, they keep moving out of wicked spite.

I kneel, letting my bare skin touch a softly frozen heap of snow.

The forest becomes my church, and I’m seated in the very first row.

Curious creatures peak through the branches to catch a glimpse,

Caterpillars and butterfly wings mix with sharp teeth and fins.

And the ground beneath me shakes with a long awaited relief,

Hugging my wounded parts and covering them gently, leaf upon leaf.

Foxgloves ring their bells thrice, the forest echoes their sound.

They search for my soul in all the boxes marked “lost and found”.

One night they will discover it and I will be pushed into the light

But for now the morning wearily calls us as my sanctuary

Vanishes from sight.

-JW

Little Fictions

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Photo by Kristina Paukshtite from Pexels

The rosewood door to your dream house still haunts me while I sleep.

I wanted to walk the highroad but you dragged me into the deep.

Withheld secrets spilled on the floor, sour air between our bodies

As you ask me to close the door from the other side

And find some better hobbies.

The keys to my old apartment hide in your closet with all the “sorries”.

I spend my weekends cutting little fictions out of our happiest stories.

There’s no way we got that far up the mountain just to die on a hill,

No way a pile of ash destroyed the paper palaces

The strongest fires couldn’t kill.

Now whenever I drive by your house, it doesn’t remind me of home.

You can change the paintings and curtains, but you cannot rebuild Rome.

Every new morning comes with another ounce of sharpened lucidity,

And I hope it cuts my pride open just enough

To defy your gravity.

-JW

Weightless

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Photo by Daria Sannikova from Pexels

The sparks dance around in your gaze,

Spin through the candle light in all their grace,

And for a moment it’s easy to imagine –

Our souls are something more than voids

Labelled “extremely fragile”.

The lanterns rain down in warm flakes,

Painting the night and its seven remakes.

Whenever you part your lips to speak,

Your voice drips like melted wax,

Deep, enticing and sleek.

The fire inside purifies my misdeeds,

Untangles the stories with missed leads.

A minute more and I’ll be weightless –

Ready to fall without second guessing

Into your oasis.

-JW

Not A Negotiation

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It is time to put down the archaic tools, stop writing the story on a typewriter.

Crisp electric impulses pick up my hands, make the limp thoughts a ton lighter.

The system wants to eat too, it craves to lose my awards in a tiresome shuffle

But the blossoms on my shoulders cannot wait to push you towards a new scuffle.

You beg of me to quit spilling the truths over newspapers you used to own.

The ground shakes more and more as others realize – the cover is fully blown.

Some shredded pages mix with the February snow, what an idyllic scenery.

While you burn the belongings I left behind,

The smoke lingers over all your thievery.

-JW

Careful What You Swear By

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If you promise a pound of flesh, you must deliver.

If you promise two, you must also give away the liver.

Even when you do not recall a blood oath made,

You must pull yourself into pieces

In the spirit of fair trade.

When the devil comes to collect your debts again,

Tell it to go and bleed dry your best friends instead.

To survive, you must really focus on existing

And you cannot do that with pride

Or morals in your system.

After all that has been done, you should remember –

One day you will not be able to blame your bad temper

For wilfully slipping deeper into the machine.

But you cannot admit it

So you swear by the silver screen.

-JW