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Haunting

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I want to see the world light up and dance with the apocalypse,

I want to embrace letting my life go and die with you.

Jump with you into the abyss.

I’ll never fully own you and, for what it’s worth, I’m glad I won’t.

I’d rather see you in safe distance than in my fever dreams,

Daunting on every living creature I haunt.

But honestly, I’m ready to go if it means you’re right there,

Our palms touching, ground trembling with fear and excitement.

Pain is numbing, bruises – extremely severe.

Every building that goes down around us is another hope to survive.

I might feel like I’m dancing with apocalypse on my own

But as long as you’re alive, I’m not running out of time.

–JW

Scarlet

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Our city is burning up in flames with ashes bringing it closer to heaven.

The place we reinvented from scratch chases me in dreams. Was it the haven?

I yelled at you for being rude and you dragged my ego through carpets –

You held my hand, we stole pamphlets and I painted the room scarlet.

Letting it go means cutting my chest open and pulling out the remains

Of what was once home to our passionate laugher, to hurricanes.

I can’t keep myself from asking – why does this feel like the end?

The truth will chase you down one day, no matter how much you bend.

Don’t worry, the ocean in me is swaying peacefully, I will take it easy.

Once you leave, I’ll pretend that the imprints you left on my lids weren’t greasy.

-JW

So I’ve Heard

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Do feelings get old and pass away? I wonder.

My stomach spins tirelessly, vomiting numbers.

Being upfront was never an option but I had the nerve,

I held your shoulders and fumed pure verve.

The game was rigged, so was the plan.

I can no longer say I’ve never loved anyone.

Why was it you? What did I lose in that entangled mind?

No explanation is good enough – the warmth has taken over,

Reasoning gets intertwined.

The corners of my lips curl upward, yours do too.

Every argument with you feels like my Waterloo

And I’m not so sure anymore. I’m scared.

Do feelings get old and pass away? So I’ve heard.

But who cares at this point, my mind’s already impaired.

-JW

No Pressure

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I must be missing the substance of all your allegories.

The sentences peel my skin with disgust when they say:

“You’re a lady, you should have some better worries.”

“Are you dating and are you planning a kid, tell me!”

They need to hear my convenient answers.

But everything I want is for my mind to be handled safely.

Crawled out of the hold of anxiety, beat the monster in the mirror,

For a year and a half I’ve been able to breathe without pain

But the pressure is quietly kicking in, it’s a silent killer.

Why can’t I simply be undecided and live one day at the time?

Why can’t I have the choice and the cash,

why can’t it all be mine?

Why is my every step analyzed as if it’s colored in lime?

-JW

My Northern Lights

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I once had a dream where you picked up the signs,

The good, bad and human. The scratches and lines.

The backlash was making my vision blurry –

You never picked up on that, you packed in a hurry.

“Be my love, my northern lights and south pole,”

I spilled without thinking. Words swallowed me whole.

One look over the shoulder and out the door you go.

The room was spinning in light speed, sinking down and low.

Where did you buy the guts to walk away into the thunder?

We were so happy together, except for that one blunder.

Jack White was playing over our tragedy when the alarm went off.

I wake up alone between piles of white sheets with a bottle of Molotov.

The ringing in my ears has passed but my tongue is still dreaming

About your venomous blood, and how I cut it out of you when you’re leaving.

Piece by piece I drink it up from the pale, cold floor. Revenge is pleasantly bitter.

I open my eyes and shake off the nightmare as birds by my window playfully chitter.

-JW

Antidote To Sentiment

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It is a never ending task to bring together the two coasts of the sea.

The reddest of reds will fill the shores to conjure, to fulfill the prophecy.

Three winters ago the waters froze so deep it felt as if we’ve never seen spring.

Three winters ago I was a bird with an injured wing. All I could do was sing.

But the waves kept crashing on my knees, they were begging me to stay.

Two coasts of the sea sunk more and more into the foolishness of dismay.

Picking one was the destiny, staying on both was a suicide, by hanging.

The antidote to my own sentiment is buried under the corpses I left without thanking.

-JK

Out Of Touch

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The tenderness has evaporated and all I’ve got is rage.

I was dying by the mic but you took over the stage,

Not thinking twice. Isn’t it funny?

I do the work and the overtime but you get the money.

I travel to the scariest corners of my sanity,

Surprised of how calmly I treat your vanities.

Why do I have to suffer for a dollar while you keep yelling

That money doesn’t bring happiness – unless I’m buying what you’re selling?

The treatments aren’t making me better, they’re making me dizzy.

When I’m drowning faster in sinking sand, you’re rooting for the scene to get grisly.

Every death threat sings me your name like a symphony –

If you snap my neck, will it be my tyranny or bigotry

That made you pull the trigger? Sure, it will always be me that’s out of touch.

“No mercy for an inconvenient lady,” you said.

“Let’s take the volume up a notch.”

But there is still no tenderness left. Just wrecks.

No empathy for those who sharpen knives on other’s necks.

I was dying from your cuts but you took over the stage,

Not thinking twice. Isn’t it funny?

Animals live on pedestals while I’m stuck in a cage.

-JW

Lost and found

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Why don’t you want to sit with me?

These smog-covered streets are fading

And I need someone to take a sip with me.

The grey of the sky melts into the smoke filled ground.

There’s still no one on my side.

Should I hand over my heart to the lost and found?

Ash is strangling me as time drips into the hourglass.

Not a person in sight, nobody’s showing up…

Is this a benchmark I need to pass?

Do I have to?

***

I was falling apart for the longest time back then, completely alone in the crisp air.

People came around but no matter how hard I pushed, they sat next to me and brushed my hair.

They never stood up or even moved

Through my absurd jokes and frightening moods.

I never took it as a promise. Nothing is granted.

But for that moment in time I didn’t feel stranded.

***

Now it’s back to the start. How can I be so sure?

What if I see them again

And the memories are just a blur?

The grayest of trees cover my cheeks discreetly.

Why don’t you want to sit with me?

Did you ever really meet me?

-JW

Rusty

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Devil only got in trouble because she spoke the truth.

As the barks of bad reputation got louder, we reached for the passion fruit.

Way down we go… I would do it all over again, bathing in holy water.

Not once will I scream or beg to the father.

Disobedience will become my alma mater.

***

I’ll be your friend until the heated end. Until the last leaf in the tree turns into dust.

When air turns to smoke, I’ll hold the corners of your mouth up until my palms are covered in rust.

Pollution will smell like musk.

The end will be easy though – surroundings will fade,

Your soul will get wanderlust.

-JW

Bitter

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Here’s a bitter pill to swallow: they don’t need me if I don’t show them sympathy first.

They’re doing great. Everything’s lovely. The moment it’s not, they drink up my empathies with a godless thirst.

Too bad I’ve been too blinded by our history, reflecting into the unknown. I missed the warning signs.

I should’ve never taken up another beggar after one already tore my core into a painting of alarming sights.

But I’m not motivated by the anger. I’m writing this because no one’s here on these dawning nights.

It all passes once the sun starts creeping up the horizon, yet the bitterness is not erased by these morning lights.

I’m mourning our fights.

The thought of never seeing them again fills me with ease so maybe I should keep my heart locked away?

In the cupboard, next to a broken glass and shivering illusions of safety, shining brighter than the signs of Broadway…

Maybe I should built a festival out of this little hideaway,

Just for myself.

But I’d rather do it like Hemingway.

Here’s a bitter pill to swallow: they would need me more if they could add me on their resume.

-JW