Mar 2024 – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

Burnout

The skin under my eyes grows older each evening

Yet I cannot grow up unless my heart stops beating.

My potential screams at me for being and breathing,

My mascara runs away in streams as I’m kneeling.

The only breeze on my bones is the ghostly face

Who haunts my dreams and leaves a bloody trace.

I store my dark thoughts in the lousiest maze

But once they find the weak point,

I will be buried in haste.

-Jackie

The gray ladies by the lake embellish my crimes

With jewels and bloodlust, and twists that scare me.

My knives puncture flesh and dance on red dimes,

Yet no one with a kind soul calls me Bloody Mary.

These palms do not butcher for pennies or thrills.

Revenge is my faith but I can replace faux gods.

If your grandmother’s story gives you a cold chill,

Keep your hands in your pockets to beat the odds.

-Jackie