Category: Other

The Woods

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Some days I don’t recognize her silhouette against the horizon.

Her feet run like a river but her mind is a dark moon rising.

Some days she follows me silently, waiting for the right moment,

And I only realize when it’s too late, once my mouth is foaming.

She doesn’t bite, she only chuckles in the foggy street corners.

She spreads the disease by filling my head with ten mourners.

The crows are chasing the sparks of my brain through the park,

I trip and tumble over my own two feet, no clarity in this dark.

Her presence is stronger, she comes closer, it’s a rollercoaster.

My shivering back pressed against a tree, sky picturesque like a poster.

I hold what’s left of my breath, squeeze my lids together tightly.

When I dare to look again, I hear a whisper sliding through the woods:

“Next time don’t fight me.”

-JW

Dysmorphic

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The coldness builds up in my stomach and neck,

A cold palm wrapping tighter around the edges,

Tighter around the wreck.

My insides shake violently, they dance around,

And I want to scream “No!” at strangers

But I can’t make a sound.

The coldness takes over my breathing, my jaw.

I grasp what’s left of me, I try to move away,

I claw and claw, and claw…

But it’s freezing my brain, the mirrors are milky.

No space left for a thought or a gulp of air.

My tongue feels silky.

The worst kind of poison is cutting open my head,

A merciless killer questioning my worth,

Leaving my body in shreds.

The coldness starts tasting like the sweetest morphine,

It fools my eyes completely, unavoidably

As I turn dysmorphic.

-JW

Lost

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Looking for my own ten commandments,

Preaching my own deadly sins.

Strikes, lines, crosses, repeated amendments.

Pulling out Band-Aids and pins.

Each border I traverse hits me in the chest,

It scorches the bubbling skin.

It’s a travesty – when I left my past to rest

I wrapped it in second-hand tin.

The narrative erases the last of my patience,

My innocence is wearing thin.

Greed and lust, two of reality’s best agents,

Become my next of kin.

I’m still seeking my own ten commandments,

Repeating my favorite sins.

Death wishes keep hiding in the finest of prints,

Tattooed with bloody pens.

-JW

Honour My Wishes

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Unremarkable, irrelevant, overly talked about but never quite acknowledged.

They let the spiteful paragraphs fly, my nightmares turn into a broken promise.

The tears freeze in the cold December air, they form perfect salty spheres.

Grainy pictures slide by as my consciousness morphs into a guilty plea no one hears.

Honour my wishes, I beg you, honour them,

Don’t listen to the fat they’re chewing.

The lighting is unavoidable, it holds the clouds up

With the strong winds brewing.

Unavoidable, facetious, overrated but never judged fairly enough to fail.

They write down my every mistake, then distribute the list by mail.

The fireworks start, make me lose my sight and my sense of direction.

My ears ring as the thought bubble above my brain dissolves into friction.

Honour my wishes, I beg you, honour them,

Don’t ever let my feet touch the ground.

The destruction is immanent, wait it out

Until a new storm is crowned.

-JW

Gusto

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Can’t get out of my bed, can’t help humming the melody,

The one you sang while I was drifting off to sleep.

Yet I hold on to my sizzling ego, set fire to the lying tarot.

Each night I make the grave mistake of standing in your shadow.

Can’t turn away, can’t think of a place that I’d rather be.

I’m twisting and turning, counting all the lost sheep.

But it wasn’t a surprise when you forgot, it was long expected.

I was born to be mistaken for a woman who can be neglected.

Should’ve built dream chateaus,

But now I’m polishing your gusto.

Yet I hold on to my sizzling ego, set fire to the lying tarot.

Each night I make the grave mistake of standing in your shadow.

-JW

Anniversary

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I’ve ruined three hundred pages with ink to chase you

Only to learn I’d rather break my neck twice than erase you.

It’s you, it’s you, and it always will be.

Yet – faith has nothing to do with destiny

So I pray for somebody else tonight, I send my love to another.

You’ll never know, you’ll never be bothered.

I’m growing tired and my words are slouching.

You didn’t offer comfort, you offered coaching –

And I wish I’d known it wasn’t care, it was business,

It was a contract and I was paying by the minute.

Yet I never burned the ink, I could never make it suffer…

Hope you’re having your own vanity for supper.

-JW

Self-Destruction

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I thought I could freeze the sadness out of me,

I thought I could caffeinate it out or paint it over with glee.

I wished once I stopped shaking, I’d be free

But no amount of distraction could part the stormy sea.

I left the window open until my skin felt static.

I wished you could guide my senses, fussy and erratic,

And I truly hoped the enormous heavy feeling inside would slip under,

Almost like dying peacefully, almost like beating a thunder.

Just like other memories they’d drift away into a dream,

Yet we’re too gentle to open the void, too gentle to ever grow mean.

So I drift off to sleep in the freezing room one more time.

The night pours saltwater in my aching bruises,

It burns like lime.

-JW

Part IV: After the heist

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We’re hiding in sketchy houses, digging through rusty mailboxes,

Burning bonfires indoors and only surviving through some proxies.

Her hair on my stomach, she’s counting what we’ve finally earned.

I’m watching with a knot in my stomach, I’m seeing she’s not concerned.

My fingertips pulsate on the skin of my lover, I’m burning alive.

An adrenaline rush captures me, take a knee or a shameful nosedive.

The roof of this shack we’re living in leans on my last sane bone,

The fridge is still empty, even after we’ve gotten enough for the crown.

But the green hair is gone, so are the goons,

Only a brown-haired girl in front of me,

A gun encrusted with runes.

And she wants the riches, not the love I offered.

I reach for the door leading to the river.

The bullet sprints as I topple.

-JW

Part III: A Memory

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Always a cliffhanger, another drop of anxious energy in an ocean.

Misdirected anger, passive aggressive comments mixed in the stress potion

And mismanaged days with rights turned sour and disgustingly wrong.

Did I hear you correctly, is my compliance coming off too strong?

Misdemeanours, ironic chuckles, severed ties with reality and truth.

I float in this dirty water because I choose to keep my eyes on you.

But you’ve been swallowed by the cloudy liquids and I’m curious –

Why do I choose to stay knee-deep in the mud, burnt-out and furious?

-JW

Part II: The night of the heist

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We’re hanging out of the eleventh storey window,

Spine tingling from adrenaline and impostor syndrome.

Our legs are heavy but our thighs aren’t shy.

We’re getting drunk on all the things that money can’t buy.

And the seventh heaven seems near when you’re here,

When you’re wrapping around me, I become a seer.

There’s glass on the floor but we’re careful while walking.

No deep feelings, no talk of romance, no naïve falling.

I disguise what’s left of my confidence as a joke

But you climb right over the fiction.

We’re so blissful yet broke.

“It’s the night of the heist, baby, don’t you worry one bit,

Tomorrow we’re gonna burn each stained seat where they sit.”

-JW