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The Endless Cycle of “Not Enough”

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Photo by Lucas Ettore Chiereguini

Being patient through most days while you abuse the peace tenderly

By dancing on my nerve ends as I sink into the lethargy.

I often wonder – can I go any deeper than this, can I go beyond?

Is living just a prolonged torture as we wait to go back where

We once belonged?

Most mornings sound static to my ears, it’s not music at all –

The noise is so maddening I run through the streets while the others stall.

I think about whether they even sense the chilling breath on their necks

As they navigate filthy boulevards filled with human made bottlenecks.

What a wreck.

When the afternoon sneaks upon me reminding of far better times,

The emptiness in my belly has grown so strong, ready to paralyze. To bury lies.

No matter how hard I’m trying to outlive the benumbing gallows inside,

It seems clear that the judgment will fall over me as they say my appeals

All have been denied.

Nothing taste quite as bitter as evenings. The silence swaddles my hair.

All I want is to be left alone…yet I also want an affair. Is this fair?

My thoughts run through foggy meadows, they stop at the no man’s land.

Some evenings they come back home. But some – they sell cannons

As contraband.

Nights are not made of time as I struggle to keep myself on the clock.

Please, don’t get me wrong – nights are still a goddamn chopping block.

I never needed a time of day to get even darker, as if I wasn’t dusky enough,

As if I needed the starlit sky to remind me how the cycle repeats, as if I needed

Another reason for giving up.

Can I just rebuff?

Please, let me out. It’s been enough.

-JW

Love Witch: Vol 2

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Photo by Charry Jin

A distant dawn is spilling light over horizons,

But I’m only waking up when I hear the sound of sirens.

There’s cheap vanilla perfume lingering between our bodies,

Pretending it is sane to look for love in hotel lobbies.

The curtains on our stage remain closed. We’re not ready to ask questions

As you feel deep regret and I’m still fighting my aggressions.

We’re done. After tonight we’re done. The moment sun rises

We’re as good as two strangers who have been through a crisis.

The morning sun hits my face, and I’m ready to flee this absurd scene.

Your eyes meet mine. You also know this has turned obscene.

***

I wonder – if you feel nothing for long enough do you

just hate everybody? Or are you just too tired?

Looking for love seems like too much effort

to put in someone who will never be desired.

But then I meet these people who I shouldn’t touch

as it’s wrong to steal something that’s not yours,

and I sink my teeth in them and I make them blush

so red… But is it my fault they put themselves on all fours?

It is he who adores, it is he who ignores

The warning signs, redder than his cheeks.

But who cares about my heartless Siren’s screak?

I’m the one who made him weak, for weeks,

just like a modern day love witch, so to speak.

Hope they burn me during dawn, as they should.

Hope I reborn as someone from Hollywood

that makes their livelihood by being no good.

-JW

A Goodbye Note on the Fridge

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Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric

It’s 2.30am and there’s nothing left in this world for me to fix,

Nothing I can do to change what’s been done, no knock-off tricks

Left in my sleeve – I’m fresh out of cheats to unlock this next level.

I’ll pack up and run. You’ll stay here to watch the dust settle.

To our past I feel sorry, my trembling arms are still holding on so tight.

But, then again, from a hundred wrongs you can’t make a single right,

Especially during the night.

Don’t call me lucky, my reality’s a free fall without a parachute.

I live on black coffee and spoofed memories of the lovers I mute,

My home is where I lay my head – but you can’t make running your friend.

You were right when you said I’m so fake I could run for president.

But, I swear, when I closed the door I didn’t mean to burn the bridges –

No point for explanations though. Just hope you won’t become religious.

“The Runaways” was playing the evening we crossed paths, it’s funny

How the moments you treasured seem foolish now, and less than temporary.

You never seemed to notice the worlds I built around you in my mind

So I built some without out you, pretending we would be just fine.

My fantasies became so real I couldn’t grasp.

And suddenly you knew, but you never asked,

Pretending we could be just fine…

***

It’s 4am and in fact, nothing needs my fixing.

I’m broken, true, yet I’ll stick to my vicious cycle of affixing

To someone that holds me together,

Only for a little while,

Like we’re birds of a feather,

Until I find a new place to start a better life.

One day I’ll make it right.

-JW

Toast To The Last Deceit

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Image from Skitterphoto

Cheers to all the concrete walls, to back allies, to crossroads and canyons,

To all the secrets they keep and how they treat daylight like their

dying companions.

To the irreversible and unimaginable, to every beginning of bitter end,

I would promise that it gets easier, but my mind’s broken and body too

so I won’t pretend.

To every inch of floor you’ve cried on or spilled some champagne on in weekends

Because you’re so tired of the rut you’re stuck in, and I’m stuck in the middle –

with you, till the world ends.

Here’s to the people that won’t call back, and the ones who text too much,

I’ve never appreciated modern art but I will admit – 21st century communication

needs artistic touch.

And to the black abyss, darkest pits, death valleys with all the crows in sight.

To the moments where the only way out is through a window pane or screen –

No fight or flight.

To the smoothest chats and pleasant small talks about weather in shitty apartment

Where the peaks mask as fate, then you become obsessed – the end of night

Will taste disheartened.

Please pick up your highball, get the courage to drink to another lonely evening –

Or is it a lovely evening? I don’t want to get demeaning

But when the ego snaps, it’s never even.

So tell me again – what is it you’re deceiving?

Late Night Angst

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Photo by Romain Kamin

The lack of voices in my head sounds like a symphony,

The quiet times in my mind are showing me some sympathy –

They sing to me.

I would raise a glass but my thoughts are as tired

As a race horse the second new jockey is hired –

It’s true (if he’s a friar).

***

I don’t change for any wind: course northbound, sail’s intact…

Some days I think of myself as an act – or an artefact.

It’s rather wonderful how I change everything yet stay in place

But it’s only two cents to enter the race –

And it will always seem like I’m slowing the pace

So join. I’m the last thing in life I can truly handle

But it’s getting foggy so blow out the candle.

Dreams are a nomad’s lantern but I’m too tired to light it,

I’d rather use a sharp compass and a good map reader to fight it –

The imminent death that’s our carrot and stick,

To be honest, god must’ve really planned this trick.

Such naïve beginnings to end up wiser when it’s your time

Rather than taking you full of ego and youthful sublime.

***

I never truly understood why I even was born, I’m not kidding,

Because it’s so easy to climb and to fall, yet still feel like winning.

Your mind can make villas out of allies or department stores

So no one’s really the loser in reaching the highest of goals.

And that’s why I find life entertaining instead of depressive

As irony is a kind of entertainment if you don’t get obsessive –

Find it meaningful enough to plan out every move in the way.

Not to be the advisor to your wiseacre

But history’s also written by those who don’t live another day.

-JW

Every Beginning and Bitter End

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Photo by Justin Hamilton

She’s a great listener and a steady support,

Even my granddad calls her “old sport”,

Because she’s a delight and the heart of every crowd –

But I’ll admit, some days she gets a bit loud.

She’s never reckless or selfish, but when she is,

I observe her closely and perform a little analysis,

You know, to see if she’s just lightheaded or hurt

By the many worlds in her head, like a true introvert,

As it’s not usual for her to act out of fear or be ruthless,

And I don’t want her mind to grow painfully fruitless.

She cares a lot, sometimes too much, to be honest,

It’s her kryptonite, forgiving more than is promised,

More than is reasonable. But I secretly love it –

Her passion takes my lowest days to the summit.

It’s tough to make her unreasonable or vague,

Although I sometime do, and she’s embarrassed to break

In front of herself, mostly, not an observer in the street.

That’s just proof of how her mind is unique, yet obsolete.

She never sees the best version of herself in the mirror,

No matter the non-value added wits and the shimmer

She ever so lightly paints her smile with, every other day.

It fascinates me, and some people can’t look away.

I fell for her as soon as she laid her eyes on me,

It seemed like there’s no one else she’d rather see

In that distant night, many Fridays ago, all alone…

It has always made sense — it’s her duty to be,

And mine, ever so blindly,

To atone.

-JW

Three Moments in Time

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Photo of Pixabay

The angriest words I’ve ever spoken are “I hope you die” –

I muttered them to myself like it mattered, in a poorly lit bathroom,

and it all went cold but I couldn’t cry.

Four months prior life stabbed me in the back, and so did stability.

I thought it might get better, but hope is a special kind of facility

which I escaped when my family lost its civility.

Now seven years have gone by, I’m still searching for a peace of mind –

peace that feels so real and unfiltered, like love at first sight,

you know, when your pieces are aligned, everything is so well-timed.

Exactly that kind.

***

Back when I had daydreams so dark they turned into insomnia,

I stayed up reading old books between cigarette ash caused euphoria.

The days felt cloudy. But, I swear, no one noticed a thing.

Coffee and mascara hid the fact that death wish and I had a fling.

Whatever chilled me to the bone was what I loved the most

Because at eighteen I learned that you can’t fix your life in post.

To be honest, this still scares me – yet the time is running out

But it’s not kind to those who mess around with so much doubt.

Time judges – especially what you make it about.

“You tout, tout, tout…”

***

It was two autumns ago I last stepped on the scale.

After 6 years of fighting the numbers got stale,

They didn’t entice me with illusion of worthlessness,

But, damn, they managed to sting, nonetheless.

I can’t recall the last time I called myself unlovable.

Maybe I’ve just become difficult or impossible?

But still intense, caring, true and deserving –

For whatever comes next, I’m still preparing,

I’m learning.

It’s rationality I lack when it comes to forgiving my brokenness.

My worst fear is waking up at square zero, this I confess.

The most loving words I say are “I hope you push through” –

I mutter them to myself like they matter because now I know

They do.

-JW

Your Vows: An Abuser’s Battle Cry

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Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels

With my right hand I’ll hold yours so tight it’ll numb,

And my left hook will christen you a cheater and scum.

I’ll gaslight your way and pave it with malice

So your tears will submissively fill my chalice.

Through your laughter I’ll twist two truths in a lie

Until joy feels repellent, like a parasite.

I’ll feast on your principles, bite and unnerve.

But your worst fear – I think I’ll have served as dessert.

Forever I’ll love you and hold you so closely

As chokehold is not forbidden. Well… Mostly.

I’ll carry your struggles and kiss them array,

I won’t notice the moments you push me away,

And I’ll climb and I’ll triumph, and take what is mine –

Why wouldn’t it be? You said pain feels fine.

What a time.

***

I will steal every last bit of mind that you own

and your credit cards, and your telephone.

Every thought and decision I promise to carry,

only to stop when you’re dull and plain, and simply ordinary.

You don’t need to go home when I am your temple,

your start and your end, don’t be sentimental.

Your resentful cries won’t ever be heard.

Blurred. You’ll become so blurred.

***

With these vows I take your life

To be my lawfully wedded butcher knife,

To care for you when I need it for survival.

But when I don’t, you’ll carry me like an

assault riffle.

Revolution’s not coming

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Photo by Sides Imagery

Days viciously surging with bargained peace offers.

Day in and day out I want out of this office.

The glass cage with razor light making my head spin –

Caffeine makes me love the sinner, and the sin.

Repeat and run faster through vices of needy,

Negotiate deals like it’s your Paris treaty.

Easy. Your worst enemy is also a friend –

There’s no companionship though when money’s well spent.

Comprehend — only anarchists live their days without loyalty,

But even Godwin’s son ended up teaching royalty.

So you better strike down revolutions in making –

Free will is the fantasy of your own faking.

-JW

The Monsters You Love

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Photo by Nicolas Postiglioni

The first one will bury your mind’s worst graveyards,

He’ll dig to cement some sense in your broken parts

to make boulevards. Or counterparts.

Serving him proves your desire and the remarkable skill,

Yet they seem not to notice the sadness and the sleeping pills.

(From now on will call the suicide attempts

unconfirmed kills.)

The second one’s someone with a magnetic field,

He’s the one to attract, you’re the one to shield.

Although well aware he’s the one to cause trauma,

He’ll blame you for wasted love and for drama.

His presence will haunt you and swallow your pride

(because months back you wanted to be his bride).

The last one will stay, through harsh and through mellow,

She’ll change dark blue into canary yellow.

You won’t notice, but one day she’ll pack and she’ll run,

And your curses will feel like a midnight sun

To her disappearing silhouette,

Dead set, like the day we met.

***

My brain is a wasteland for your bitterness

And your bites, so vain, stink like helplessness.

Yet you manage to stain every fragment and pore.

Yes, your words turn me into another whore,

A slave for money, still so goddamn poor.

The loneliness unwraps, it’s hollow and soar.

Run to the door. Slowly, my dear, a little bit more.

When the breeze hits your face, the fanfares of escape will roar

Bullets will cover my sloop of war.

***

I haven’t yet met a monster so unlovable:

That sentence in it self is disprovable

Yet probable.

Ironical.