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
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 