Month: Sep 2021

Red Sirens

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The lightbulbs in my palace buzz the name of my betrayer.

I kneeled in front of his tarred lies,

Believed him when he promised to return for me later.

But I stand alone as my silhouette melts away like snow.

I bowed my head in front of his grace.

You know I would sell a soul for a chance to let him go.

The lanterns warming up my cold street scream in agony.

I crawled my palms raw in front of him,

Took the sound of time running out for a symphony.

But now I sit on the freezing rock floor in complete silence.

I laid my life in front of his insecurities.

Still, I would die again at the sound of his red sirens.

-JW

Voiceless

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The voices that haunt me are deliberating in the corner.

I bet by Monday they will have fresh lies to tell me

And a better plan for getting me to the coroner.

My consciousness is floating in boiling charcoal debris.

As the voices sharpen their crooked yellow teeth,

I struggle to say a word, I struggle to breathe.

They approach me with crosses, raining blood on my bed,

And stare in disgust mixed with vain satisfaction

When I silently whisper, “I would rather be dead.”

The voices that haunt me are screaming my every thought.

I bet by Tuesday they will quiet me down

And dance in the ashes of all the fights I have fought.

-JW

Exit Wounds

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I danced with your seven devils last night.

They broke my spirits, they showed me how to fight.

My fists were ready to take down my shame,

But you buried me in it, then buried your own blame.

I ran with your deepest fears last night.

They are a wicked crowd with rotten bodies to hide.

My lashes were ready to dry and evaporate.

You pushed me in harm’s way, you did not hesitate.

I fell with your palaces of lies last night.

They reopened my exit wounds and took a large bite.

My skin was ready to let me bleed out,

So, you broke my neck and left me in the drought.

-JW

Unwritten Dreams

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I live in fairytales composed by a violent author.

She paints me in white and calls me the martyr.

The milky shades run down my skin in harmony

Until her undying ink becomes a part of me.

I live in fairytales burned at the witching hour.

Thirsty flames turn all my sweet endings sour.

Screeching gasoline runs down my skin in agony

As my unwritten dreams become their own parody.

-JW

The Night

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The night dribbles on my tongue like a bittersweet symphony,

It plays with my senses, it wants the moonlight to sing with me.

I have been counting my blessings and writing down the spooks.

The night watches silently as I burn down my deepest roots.

And I know what they say about people who survive on darkness –

We are the wicked crowd, forgotten by the gods of our fathers.

But the night stares patiently as I wash my scars with bleach.

The shadows form black smoke around each limb that bleeds.

Lately all the lightness has become just too heavy to carry.

I naively wish on a dying star like it does not have bodies to bury.

The night drips down my lips with all its sticky sentiments,

It plays with my mind, trying to find where I lost my innocence.

-JW

Calling Me

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You are calling me from the castle,

Telling me all about the power I will never obtain.

You want to love me, then call it a hassle.

Your kingpin father forbid you to burn his remains.

Every night I peek through your gilded fences,

My curiosity twists around in circles like a snake.

I try on your family’s crooked lenses,

It seems like you live in a truth that I cannot taste.

Your guards call me Alice as they chase me,

But I keep my feet quick and refuse their guilt.

The spinning arrows they shoot erase me.

I wake up from the daydream on my windowsill.

And you are calling me from your castle,

Telling me about the ignorance I cannot obtain.

You want to show me how to reach it faster,

But I digress, there is no joy in your golden pain.

-JW

The Wanderer

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She cursed you to wander the windiest forests for a decade or two.

The shadows turned you into prey, your guilt turned you ocean blue.

And you might have walked the forest alone if you never met me.

I might have even escaped your bear trap if I was not this petty.

They say tragedy imitates action, oh, but I beg to differ, my dearest.

You begged the forest to swallow me whole when I thought I was fearless.

To my surprise, it listened and made me walk the darkness with you.

She cursed you to wander endlessly,

Never knowing that she has cursed two.

-JW

Liar, Liar

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Pull a grey bag over my head and make me pray for my life.

You like to play these games,

And I am always on the tip of your knife.

Go on, dear, and release your unforgiving flame over me.

You are a walking scab,

Sinking in your own guilt and oversold novelty.

You tried to prove them that we were alike, you damn liar.

I was looking for water,

But you overshot and pulled me into the fire.

Blow some frosty fog into my eyes again and let me down.

I like to play games too,

Except I can do it with a spine, in a red gown.

So, go ahead and part your unruly lips in faux surprise.

You are a stain on my pride,

And you will have to pay the fairest price.

-JW

When The Scars Turn Into Wounds Again

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You can smell my blood when I bleed on another operating table.

I feel it – how your eyes change shade, how you call me ungrateful.

As I am allowing another man to cut out my ego like it is a tumor,

You break cathedral glass, killing every spirit who spreads the rumors.

When my blood drips down the drain after yet another procedure,

I know that the humming coming from my anesthetic mind feeds you.

You are locked away behind your stained glass and silver crosses,

But you will survive if you cannot count me as one of your losses.

And when the scars turn into wounds again, I will seek you out.

You will waste your voice on my towering insecurities…

Still, I will enjoy the sound.

-JW

Count To Four

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My shoulders ache from carrying your cross.

I wish the devil bit my tongue when I said –

Honey, I need you the most.

The beaming Sahara sun drains me of hope.

We were young and dripping in red,

Now you are passing me the rope.

All my toes are bleeding on the pavement.

The memory seems to fade,

Then it breaks my neck as a statement.

I cannot recognize my own hands anymore.

They are now made of pure led.

Honey, run before I count to four.

-JW