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A Screw to Tighten

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The pressure to dislike yourself is the next great invention.

It’s not a wheel, you can reinvent it.

So go ahead, we’ll buy more extensions even when we get our pensions.

The riots on the streets are only static playing in the radio.

Why accept if you can always improve with pills and some cardio?

If it fails, at least you’ll die trying or even die pretty –

That’s a bargain, take it! Maybe they’ll invite you to the big city.

Don’t focus on nutrients, they don’t make you skinny, silly!

Suck in your cheeks while smiling, dear,

Keep your head semi-high and attitude – chilly.

Never let them know you’re difficult. Or your cons.

You’re mostly cons so, please, keep quiet for once!

I hate that dress on you. Aren’t these pants too tight for a stranger in the street?

With that attitude… No wonder no one wants you in their sheets!

How come you’re not married? Such a waste of symmetrical face.

The ass could use some work but no one is only straight A’s.

That would be boring – not having a screw to tighten here and there.

And you can’t have special treatment for ravishing eyes, it’s not fair!

The pressure to dislike yourself is the next great invention.

Yet you only invest in getting it patented if you pay it

attention,

your tension,

pretention.

-JW

Parched

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Do you know how hard I’m trying to write this when I’m incapable of muttering a single sentence?

Do you ever just wonder why I keep scribbling nonsense each day as if I’m bringing myself the vengeance?

Have you ever been left alone with your thoughts for a moment too long, and the clarity gets as sharp as a sword?

Have you… This one’s too personal but I’ll ask anyway if you give me your word.

…promise?

Have you missed somebody with the force of a hundred waterfalls crashing down without compassion?

No, no… But have you missed someone more than any relative, any friend? As if their love was just a fraction,

A drop in the ocean compared to how parched your throat has been lately. It’s a desert.

I’m trapped in it – and nothing worldly that can be offered will make my poisoned mind avert.

Luckily, nothing lays seeds in my heart. Nothing grows in sinking sand. No saviors left in sight.

Only drought and unrequited lovers left alive. No one sleeps in this land as the nights are also snow white.

Have you missed somebody like this or am I hallucinating out of the malice?

If this is the Wonderland they promised, please do me a favor

And never wake Alice.

-JW

Z

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Spider webs of emotion tied through my senses, recalling the past so bright.

When I was younger, I was clashing with every soul – what a cost to make it right.

Swords of ill kept pledges dwelled from behind, blades racing through air.

When I was younger, I was crashing into every hurdle hoping to find something fair.

No one heard the cries when I transformed into the huntress of unforgivable.

Loaning sins and trading good lives for desperate ones, lending the unspeakable.

Pathetic men dressed in red capes tried to warn me but they turned to stone…

If they only marched faster, I would retreat. I wouldn’t have to make it alone.

Tonight the executioner is blinking thrice before filling Satan’s cup.

Chains around his chest is not jewelry. They are gilded butterflies, tied up.

Oh, Z, but imagine how quiet it is on the other side. No one to betray or berate,

No alliances. Just imprisoned efforts and no strength to hold a pen. To create.

With my stolen innocence I offered you peace. You crushed it to dust adversely.

Yet my mind is not secular when I hear your voice so I pick the land of no mercy.

Let me jump. I know I’ll make it to purgatory. I’ll find a way out just scarcely.

-JW

Roses all the way up

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Daffodils sing to me before I fall asleep. Or are they screaming again?

Blue sky turns black and this night tastes bitter. I burn as they ordain,

As they form a circle ready to take away the present. I sense their presence.

Under the masks their stares locked and loaded. Should I feel penance?

Clock strikes eleven when the kingdom is overthrown. The heir is hanged.

Nothing but bad omens spinning in carnival ride around my feet. Wrapping and hissing, their snakes are fanged.

Are they poisonous or filling aphrodisiacs in my veins? Impossible to tell up-close.

The lack of nobility in this crowd is pitiful – at least they filled the front rows.

Roses all the way up, thorns all the way down. Dethroned I sit in the pit, waiting.

No way back from here. Remorse leaves their eyes as breath leaves my cherry lips…

Laced in nothing but your broken vows with my last heartbeat I dream about kissing your fingertips.

-JW

Ghost House

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Who am I really? Nothing but someone to hold when you’re having fun.

Nothing else than another man’s forbidden fantasy of the month.

They only want to keep me alive until life gets in the way, then they get lost.

Going back to their wives is easy once they’ve gotten what they needed the most.

Yet – I’m still unaware what they came out to get. Thrill? Peace?

A piece of me?

I’m not sure my arms can put a wandering mind at ease.

The only thing I’m certain about is that I can’t go another night lonely.

Can’t keep up the pretend that I’m alright, even after they told me:

To never let my feelings roam the streets, especially if they’re messing with people already taken…

If the house is abandoned and filled with ghosts, I might as well break in.

Right? Or am I dismantling a firecracker of moral dilemmas here by just asking –

Is love another way to tie somebody down or is it really everlasting?

-JW

Salty

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My love letters to you always describe how I’m sinking, how I’m out of air,

Lungs collapsing under pressure, nose bleeding fury and salty despair.

It’s difficult to take another step in your direction as I’m fearful

The weight of carrying this bond might break me when you brand me as an earful.

Why is our dynamic always the one between a ruffian and coward?

We keep switching the roles, but one is always overpowered.

Is it a crime – dreaming about jumping on a runaway train with you, then fleeing?

My words work like a liquor on you, some days you’re screaming, some – you’re kneeling.

Often we imagine getting violent, even when we’re stone cold sober.

I really wish my lust would get you stupid high but you were never a smoker.

Untitled pages of our story keep flashing in front of my eyes. They’re burning.

Evaporating in the spring breezes, getting twisted in sun, almost as it isn’t hurting.

My love letters to you have never been love letters, they’ve been anchors.

Half of me wants to go see the deep end, half – hopes I’m pulled out by a tanker.

Both outcomes will come with a very similar cost, with no precalculation.

Both twists will show me another way to master flotation.

-JW

No one’s coming

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Can’t keep my stare away from pretty people.

Can’t keep my hands away from broken things.

I’m so enchanted when I know you will not say “no” to these flames –

But who’s gonna save you when I’m choking you with tears on late evenings?

Never been in such a power position, never played these power games.

Do we just burst through the roof with sensation or do we ignore the desires and feelings?

Messing with your realities has been one hell of a ride but I’m wasted

And you’re probably getting high on your own ego again…

The sadness in your smile, I can taste it,

But sensing you near still wakes me up like cocaine.

Who am I really mocking here? You or me? Can’t be both, we’re nothing alike,

The worst of friends. Best of enemies. Can’t treat you humanly but can’t help treating you nicely.

Yet every storm that shakes you, kills me a bit. Are they planning a strike?

Do people know what’s going on? Are they attacking so we never choose wisely?

No one’s coming to save us anyway so go on, entice me.

-JW

Hopeless

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No one knows this but I’m a hopeless romantic on most days.

Chasing after men that don’t need me, only want me. What an unfruitful play.

No one cares but I get attached too easily. Being apart brings this sensation

That burns up my insides and heart. From afar it must look distasteful.

No one bats an eye but my demons are stepping on my heels each evening –

I have to face them, yet I also have to do so much overdue healing.

No one hears this but I cry to myself when I lock the doors in my cheap apartment.

You must think I’m really lucky. The truth is – for my sadness I’ve just built

Another compartment. What an assortment.

-JW

A Dream

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My imagination keeps hurting me, it’s making up these memories.

It’s brining up these things that never happened, and playing the saddest melodies.

I needed very little but you made it complicated. You made me the fool.

For the rest of my days I’ll regret thinking that I knew you. I’ll make it a rule:

That you never lay your thirsty glaze on my spine before I grab a knife.

But you don’t make it easy, you read into my words. Please, get a life.

Pack your bags and go torture another creature in love with the helpless.

I would write a memoir about your messes, but there’s not a book that would sell less.

My imagination keeps hurting me, it’s bringing up these late night feelings.

But let’s not waste our time on those who are out of sight, let’s go with the proceedings.

By all means, let’s not waste another second discussing unimportant affairs.

We all know that love only tastes good when it’s mixed fair.

-JW

Loudmouth

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Can’t take another step in that direction, cannot proceed

With acting like nothing’s lost. Like I don’t have mouths to feed.

What if it’s only my greedy mouth, who cares?

It won’t be your feet that’s cold. Won’t be your feet that’s bear.

For better or worse, I’ve always decided to climb despite the weather.

The tallest of mountains I’ll conquer just for the headline and aether.

No one cares if the loudmouth eats by the end of the day, do they?

“They’re here to distract and get the job done, and they never really obey.”

Who are you to judge who gets paid when you don’t know the job?

I’ve been bleeding and barely breathing for the past four months,

Feels like I’ve got robbed.

But there’s no place for my angst here, have to suffer alone.

They’ll ensure I never blink or roll my eyes, and watch the tone.

“You better pick up you phone

Before the fat lady sings,

Otherwise, you’re gone.

Don’t walk the place like it’s your own.”

How about you watch while I spill your deepest fears and a few cheap beers

In the fucking cell while your bosses hear –

I bet they will be all ears…

-JW