Month: Apr 2021

Humor Me

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What’s left out there to inspire me anymore?

My mind’s dry sense of humor

Feels like a foot in the coffin door.

So I’m just wondering – what are we aiming for

By blundering in thunder

With heels achy and soar.

It almost seems like I’ve lost all the passion,

Left it out for the fiends

To steal, abuse and just cash in.

My thoughts are sometimes the worst distraction,

They’re coded in Morse,

Only encrypted in small fractions.

The brain struggles to put a single sentence together

Until I’m all out of moral debts,

No ties left to severe.

So what’s really inspiring me in this icy weather?

The creativity’s refusing to humor me,

Each new day lasts forever.

-JW

Note #816

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I’ve drafted way too many goodbye notes to let you finish a single one.

I’ve shot myself too many times to ever trust you with a barrel of the gun.

Call out my double standards and swear that you’ll never speak to me,

Comfort your vividly green envy but let my wide eyes be your prophecy –

Don’t you ever follow me, don’t you ever step a foot in my direction.

Trust the gut that’s pulling you away from the path of polished affection.

The little perfections will turn into an avalanche that buries the strongest.

One day the immaculate snow won’t melt away until the middle of August.

Take my advice as a warning but don’t carry it home like a gilded shield.

You can’t learn a lesson worth your while if your lips are spitefully ceiled.

But I’ve drafted too many farewell addresses to give you any ink for free.

Put my silly words in a backpack, waste them over another nosebleed

Until you find your true creed.

-JW

The Haunting

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Trams pass through me at midnight, they’re all empty and sound,

And I stand on the rails pushing away spiky, grey clouds.

The silence disarms me but the darkness melts like warm butter,

My feet weaken by the second as shame angrily splutters.

The asphalt is the path of the forgotten – yet, my legs get weaker.

It’s a shame, really, I’ve only been running for one weekend,

But my high-flying morals have turned into a deadly splinter

That will kill off all my innocence by the next winter.

The red in my cheeks is crawling up to the whites of my eyes.

Perhaps I rushed when accepting this Trojan horse of a prize –

Even the road less travelled can turn into the bleakest routine

If you’re already a ghostly mist masked as a fine-tuned machine.

But escaping the truth can only get one so far, and I knew it.

I raised the seven headed dragon, then waltzed right through it –

Until it burned me to a crisp while I pretended to be its king…

Now I walk the streets as a wisp of charcoal smoke

With two scarlet scars replacing my rosy wings.

-JW

Note #914

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Trees by my window turn chartreuse, they have lungs to feed and souls to sting.

The birds return home with the highest of winds, bringing the first breath of spring.

My eyes feel like an anchor in this scene, they’re ruining the view with bright red fear.

The blood I shed for vile creatures keeps visiting at night, threatening to disappear.

And I worry – maybe I got out too late to ever pull myself back together again?

Maybe I truly played my last card, ceiled the faith, and lost myself as a friend?

The pound of flesh I offered them for free wasn’t an invitation to rob my skull empty –

But I thought once I left, we would be even, yet, I’m broken and they still have plenty.

So where is the fairness my ego promised? Where are the roaring melodies?

The life spins faster and faster around me but I no longer feel like its centrepiece.

And the trees get greener, the city gets louder, the sunlight numbs me to the bone.     

I pray each night to the gods I dethroned

That I still have the spite to never answer the phone.

-JW

Note #316

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My anger never finds its rightful place.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I’m just taking up your space.

The past spins out of tune when I’m in doubt

About whether forgiving you

Was the best route.

And you have seven other copies of me

But I didn’t agree

That you can simply use them whenever I flee.

Still – you don’t take my words at face value,

Leaving me hungry,

Stripped of all the values.

I refuse to step down to your level

Because the anger’s too clever

To get shamed and called a rebel.

So bring out your best battle swords.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I have a bloodlust for your wicked words.

-JW

Note #185

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I hope you bite open the misery pills like I did,

Choke on their acidic poisons

Covered in your whitest fibs.

Don’t call dibs on my morals, not just yet.

The walls are closing in on me

But the floors are soaking wet

And they might cave in to set me free

From the last torture device in this town

That still brings you glee –

The lava leaking down my back.

Oh, the irony, the always fruitful tree.

I was never your problem,

Yet, you insisted that it takes tree

To love, to tango, to cause a riot…

I was a wild mango and you threw me out

Pretending I’m too rotten to be on your diet.

So tell me – how does it feel right now

When all you taste is bitterness

And every second is a waste somehow?

I hope you bite open the misery pills soon,

Choke on the sentences that branded me

Forever your little fool.

-JW

Note #317

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The waves flush us bone dry,

They crush over us repeatedly.

You were once my Versailles

But your armor defeated me.

No, I’m not really your fool,

I’m just a victim of the times.

Sorry for losing the cool,

For dismembering your chimes.

Yet, you know I have a spite that bites

And two angry feet –

You can pick and choose your fights

But I’ll still be your defeat.

-JW

Sacrificing The Voice

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And I digress from the compromises I made,

From the lies I confessed.

My eyes surrender to the horizon this time

And the highs reach out to me,

They engulf me in peace –

So I profess.

The chants are left behind as I levitate,

I raise both my hands to the sun,

Hoping it’s not too late.

There is no noise, faith decides itself again.

And my voice leaves

Just like another murmur,

Whirling with the first spring leaves.

-JW

The Searchlights

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The voices get angrier when the big searchlight in the sky goes out.

They try to take me through the paths that gaslight and sow doubt.

I chase the intrusive thoughts away by turning into a bright red blot,

And it is not necessarily a goal of mine but I am shooting my shot.

I crawl on my knees through the darkened streets without any shame.

The sounds echo in my brain without finding a corner to tame.

But the stars above me look like silver clots in a dark despair sea,

The humming of its silky splashes tail my mind in a minor key –

Until there is nothing else, just another rigid body in the water.

Someone will pull me out with a fishing line, call me their daughter.

The cycle repeats, the runaway in me starts loving the searchlights.

Too often the happiest endings never happen

Because of the darkest nights.

-JW

Spliced

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Do you even remember when I caged up your cast iron heart like a bird of prey,

Breaking each promise I made to myself in the most exhilarating way?

And I buried that cage away, under unidentifiable skulls and pale blue plastic,

I dug it so deep that your clear voice turned into some rusty static.

The lucid sunsets I used to watch from my bed turned uninviting and dull.

All the air around me shrunk in size until the atmosphere was a screaming null.

I placed my palms on the marks in my skin you left without thinking twice…

So I hope you remember this time because I’m setting ablaze our splice.

-JW