Author: jackiewrightauthor

Travelling Show

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Quite tragic what happened when I dropped you and left.

I turned away dramatically while holding your spine

Like a cigarette.

At least that’s what you’re telling them, that’s how I know

That when I left, you made me into an amusement park,

Into a travelling show.

Not a circus, just a bare stage and bad storytelling.

I can tell you lie because your tongue is sour from spite

And it’s rapidly swelling.

It hurts to re-run the memories, to think about how I quit.

You were extremely vile but I wasn’t scared – so go,

Take away your friendship that’s counterfeit.

-JW

Symphonies

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The monster I raised is no longer inside.

No running or hiding from the spoiled evening tide.

Relief bouncing off walls, exploding from the chest.

I want to rest. I want to rest. I just want to rest.

Birds chirping to some long forgotten symphonies.

I dance and I swear, no one sees –

I can do as I please.

When I’m alone, I control all the seas

But only as long as the monster agrees.

-JW

Fresh As A Daydream

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It’s one of those days. Someone breaks the news, the news break my bones.

Simple, logical. I’m lost in time and space. I’m freeing the dusty thrones.

Marching around the room aimlessly, memories bursting by my teary eyes,

Light speed is nothing compared to the rush of these thoughts, these lies.

I’m deep in self-pity and misery, angry at the destiny that cost me the sky.

Why do I only believe that there’s a god when I’m high on the cupid’s supply?

Then my song comes on. It crumbles. The reality reappears fresh as a daydream.

I start remembering all the parts you didn’t own, how I was always the A-team.

And the freedom sets me jumping up and down, flying down a flight of stairs.

My father used to say that goodbyes are only bitter if the opponent fought fair.

All life spent running from demons – maybe this is the one I beat facing him directly?

Maybe you were the one wicked curse not going in for the kill,

Maybe you shot to protect me?

-JW

Blood Is (Not) Thicker

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As cold as these memories are, I’ll try torching them nonetheless.

The rose tattoo on my shoulder is freezing, the shakes are becoming effortless.

The marrow in the bones is long gone, my hunger doesn’t stand a chance.

And I’m sorry that I’m so damn spoiled – I tried to warn you in advance.

I see troops marching with the machines, gathering their accolades.

My tongue – twisting in an endless loop, seeking words to dull the blades.

It is never easy to lose the one you looked for to a petty act of vengeance.

Why in our twenties we’re acting like we owe respect to ancestors

And also – descendants?

It’s good to have pride but how much honor can each generation carry?

Every step hurts the parents, every misstep – kids; cheeks burning redder than sweetest cherries.

As scary as it is to leave the past behind and future ahead, I will take my chances.

Surviving from second to second, trusting my mind, not my blood-addicted senses.

-JW

Drunk on My Silence

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I used to get drunk on feeling blue about your love,

I used to get hyped when the push came to shove.

My palms sweating at your arrogance, heating up,

But I kind of enjoyed being there, being stuck.

The empathy I carried was too heavy for your shoulders.

The hate you poured weighed me down like a boulder.

I said: “You don’t have to agree but please listen.”

You snapped. “I hope your kind dies out of this system.”

The anger blinded my focus so I span out of control.

Tired of the middle ground, done with trying to cajole.

I used to get drunk on my silence to keep it nonviolent,

But I’m done thinking you can cut me open,

I’m done staying silent.

My voice has never been riant –

My blood is too defiant.

Try me. Try and challenge this bitter story

But you won’t make it taste more compliant.

-JW

Upside Down Morse

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Protected cruelty knows no limits so let’s make it learn.

No mercy for those who leave helpless bodies to burn.

The mission has failed us and a prayer or chant won’t do –

For every stab you encounter, I will gladly take two.

No space for safety in this place with no sacred codes.

I don’t understand, it must be an upside down Morse.

The message is unforgivably brutal to those who hear –

Out of all the weapons you’ve got, I wouldn’t use fear.

-JW

Bloody Coins

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Remember the money on the table, the bloody coins?

I didn’t touch it. Didn’t read the red talking points.

You stared in disbelief, as if I’ve cut you open for good.

You bit down on my fingers for pleasure

Just because you could.

Remember the jam-packed streets and our rendezvous?

It wasn’t a fortuity that I left the room raging blue.

The damage was limited but scarring was there to stay.

“No excuses for you to be insufferable again.

If you weep, I don’t pay.”

And once again – I stay.

-JW

Last Hope

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(dedicated to my past anxiety)

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You’re my favorite city light, my favorite paper cut.

For my every “if”, you have a concerned “but…”

And I don’t adore you that much when you cut my wings –

Yet you make my loneliness feel like gatherings.

(Maybe we weren’t the kings?)

Where did the time go while I stood perfectly still?

How come all the pages were burned in the paper mill?

You might not realize but it hurts – writing this verse,

Shouting at my future sliding before me in reverse.

(I must revenge the curse.)

Don’t mind me being foolish over another day.

My nerves are made of glass, my heart – of clay.

Correct me if I’m slurring through all the skull fractures,

I’m just learning this feeling was manufactured.

(Kill if ever captured.)

You’re my city of sin, my ghost town of innocence.

Every hope you mask with a crooked camera lens,

Shoot me twice in the chest, then wave the white flag.

The past seems fake, echoes are starting to lag.

(Fire, take out that drag.)

-JW

The Darkest Sides of the Moon

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Help me sober up from the puddle of mud I chugged for you.

We’re not operating at the same frequency but it still rings true –

I cannot concentrate when your foolish mind runs around mine,

It sprints in circles, and I’m outrun, acting as if it’s fine.

No one’s giving a helping hand when I’m down and that’s normal.

I begged you not to cut my wrists and you asked to keep it formal.

One inch from the finish line is where I realized my painful mistake –

I didn’t let your cast iron heart drown in sea, I thought it was a fake.

You’ve been exquisite at making the darkest sides of the moon disappear,

And I’ve kept my guard up, kept the bridges burned and coast clear.

Somehow the mud in my stomach is making my heels unsteady,

And maybe we’re not on the same wave-length but to let you go –

I don’t feel ready.

But if you still have some love in stock, I won’t take any.

I’m not your lucky penny.

Not again.

I won’t take any.

The Show Mustn’t Go On

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I lit thirteen black candles to get you out of my four chambers

And I prayed to the gods and devils, even some saviors.

Every last belonging of yours I tossed out of the blurry window,

Every corner of my cell I cleaned, still –

You called me a bimbo.

Or was it my shattered ego throwing a tantrum once again?

I can’t compete with this, your venom is my ritualistic sin.

Four days I’ve been counting the seconds to our next row.

Baby, I’ll hit where it hurts but you’ll always go low.

Shows like this mustn’t go on, despite the audience chanting.

Whenever we crash again, they’ll call it a fabulous landing.

I’m over being type-cast as your next big step to freedom.

If you grow your demons for too long,

Someone needs to feed them.

It won’t be me, unfortunately, I’d rather run with my heathens.

The neon city might crash my bones but I’m not looking for Eden.

The next time you come down from the clouds pale, empty handed

Please keep in mind – it is still me you carved and forever branded.

You were never stranded.

-JW