Category: Other

Red

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The Red is piercing my skin and pushing furious tentacles out of my neck.

With every heartbeat the scene turns brighter, I’m caught in a self-made wreck.

The green contact lenses I’m wearing can’t hide the pressure raising within,

I know my eyes glow in sultry carmine, I know I’ve lost my linchpin.

The nails click on surfaces, they dig into walls, they pull out my own hair.

The Red comes in waves and it leaves me crying for a chance to fight fair.

But they own my guts and let me sleep in them, too, just for another payday –

So I snap at myself for reasons unknown, convinced that I’m their prey.

The Red punishes me, it holds my nerve ends under deadly avalanches.

Fixing the damage feels like welding together burned and broken branches.

And soon enough every part of my torso is covered in a crown of flames

So I let the yet untamed Red out to play with its creators,

The instigators of my deep shame.

-JW

Between The Pileus Clouds Of Her Hometown

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Her auburn hair falls into my eyes, gets tangled up with my lashes –

But only in my sleep, only when I patch up the crimson slashes.

Her curls lay on the pillows and flow on the perfectly white duvet,

A memory I can barely remember, a memory drawn in clay.

The iridescent pileus clouds swim peacefully over her hometown –

I try my best to recall that this place was never our common ground.

We tried to make houses out of cardboard boxes and compulsive lies.

The walls didn’t stand the test of time, they collapsed after our highs.

My pillows have sharp teeth nowadays, they bite me with pure rage –

Yet I still wish on a falling star, beg for the love of my dying mage.

But she doesn’t hear my cries, no, she’s chosen to look away –

My feeble ego convulses, collecting the blowback in an ashtray.

There’s a blizzard outside and an ice storm rising in my very own chest –

Her sweet warmth feels too adjacent… I mustn’t surrender or ever rest.

Maybe the hunger will implode one day, maybe it will survive,

And we’ll keep reaching for one another to prove we’re barely alive.

-JW

Killing Friends

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The leaves were covered in frozen mist during that October sunrise,

Birds chirped their goodbyes through the glistening clouds

And there was this emptiness the beauty couldn’t suffice.

Chilly tombstones surrounded us both as far as the eye could see.

An unspoken promise and mystery arose in the silence

But your glance twitched in horror, not in glee.

“What does it take to kill a friend?” I wondered to myself mischievously

As the city reminded us of its wandering ways with loud honks,

Taking us out of the delirious sleep.

“You told me to take you away but what’s the catch?” I spoke up.

My sweater wasn’t warm enough to keep the breezes away.

I was too focused to feel hopeful.

Internally you pleaded with your own shame, with your own instincts.

“You can’t outrun me now, it’s painfully obvious,

But your body will try once the adrenaline stings.”

We stood wordlessly for a moment more, then you bolted for the street.

I enjoy a good chase, yet – this was a mediocre one at best.

Every lion has to hunt, every hunter has to eat.

The leaves were covered in frozen red droplets during that October sunrise,

Birds fled for cover towards the stormy autumn clouds

And there was beauty to it no emptiness could replace.

-JW

Emptying The Guns

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Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

And she painted her rooms black, every edge, every single wall.

The intruders thought she’d gone mad when visiting her that fall.

No one asked out loud though, they let it slide for the sake of it all.

She painted her rooms black, then laid on the floor dressed in white

Just to feel small.

And she cut off her long hair, she shortened her skirts and dresses.

The grass tickled her thumbs when she ran away from all the messes –

No one seemed to notice though, no one ever stopped the presses.

She cut off her hair and sold half of her closet,

She burned up their old addresses.

And she walked for miles gasping every time the glass cut open her skin,

The people throughout the city promised to cut off her fins.

No one said it but the intention was clear – no witch, no sin.

She walked the city, and each blade they pushed in her back

Felt like a tiny pin.

And she carried on, walked even faster, and readied her boats.

The village folks triumphantly whispered, “Witches never float.”

No one screamed in pain, they simply collapsed all at once.

She’s carried this weight for decades,

Let her finally empty the guns.

-JW

The Unholy Visitor

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Photo by Aleksandr Burzinskij from Pexels

A cigar in one steady hand, a red rose in the other.

She comes closer, cryptically bewinged and unbothered,

Ashes on her grey dress, she’s so pathetic.

There’s stillness in her movements, it’s ironically hectic.

Currant coloured blood trickling through the cherry nails.

She leaves a slimy path behind her, irony and stale.

The dress soaks up some of the liquid as she sways.

Her legs are bruised and shoes have seen some better days.

With the pale face partially hidden behind a shiny mask

She ogles, her presence feels holier than Pasch,

The fabric of her dress burns, it takes my heart’s place.

I want to kneel, I want to preach, I want to praise.

My limbs stay still as the floor kisses my forehead.

She whispers things I can’t repeat, tales lustrous and morbid,

As the touch of her fragile fingers slowly fades away…

Ominous silence snaps me back into a dusk, silver grey.

-JW

The Race Of The Lucky Ones

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Another heart beats on, not mine, not yours,

The heart of an innocent being,

Gentle lashes and velvet pores.

We wonder why the world is weeping.

Another one passes by, not me, not you,

Would’ve been neck and neck,

This race for the promised youth,

But we couldn’t pay in a cheque.

Another frozen soul neither here nor there

Caught up in icy words and neglect.

I do know why, I do know where

The ship that sailed was always decked.

Another day droops through my fingers –

And yours,

But the snow stays in our hair,

The bitterness lingers.

We’re such fools for fighting fair.

-JW

Rising

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Brave the winds, brave the winds, brave the winds.

The waves are going to drown you out,

Crash you on needles and pins.

Brave the winds, brave the winds, brave the winds.

The stream is circling around, let it hold you

And do not wince.

Crash the tide, crash the tide, crash the tide.

We are dry as a bone, we are dying

With nobody by our side.

Crash the tide, crash the tide, crash the tide.

The foam is blocking our tracheas.

Let me lose my breath before I lose my mind.

-JW

Conjure The Storms

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“You never write about bright things and calm meadows,”

She says laughingly, cocooned in white blankets,

Sipping on Bordeaux.

“You don’t mention honeycombs or the soft skin of your lovers,”

She whispers leaning closer, teasingly smirking

Over the covers.

And she’s not wrong, her sweet breath makes my shoulders tense

But I’d rather trade this all away

Than give my life a tinsel-lens.

She’s always right to call out my sad little trope of a life

Whenever I drown too fast in its glory,

Yet – I’d never be dressed in white.

“Hold back your “sorry”s before you paint my pages all vivid,”

I sigh, anxiously spinning a pen in my cramping fingers.

She feels so livid.

When I gather the courage to look back at her surprised face,

I don’t notice a tear or a wrinkle,

She knows she’s won this case.

“And you’ve been put in this world only to conjure the storms,”

She mumbles to herself, graciously, ferociously.

The bites in her stare come in swarms.

-JW

The Secrets Of Mahogany Street

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All the leaves are soaked in the ruby evening sun

Setting over the heads of city’s sin-eating scum,

But they do not notice, no, with their horse blinders,

With their grubby Bibles, one cent for seven binders.

The dusk flourishes in all its glory, it nourishes me.

The smooth silk of the night covers us in polishes and glee,

And we’ve been starving for a silent moment like this,

Trembling as the mahogany monsters tie up our wrists.

The buildings surrounding us stare too stoically –

Scarlet lights make this scene taste of crude loyalty.

We’re taken down the street, blinded and submissive.

Not a sound in the salty air, it’s not the noise we’re missing.

The wicked walk comes to a full stop, the wires loosen,

We see the city glisten miles away, we listen to the music.

Perfect circles forming around the maroon shine of the fires.

I’m ready to revolve around the flame, my heart’s a liar.

As the bodies grow warmer, the monsters grow greedier,

The creatures sneaking closer to our necks seem seedier.

But if we just keep up with the song, we might be alright –

“These dark rituals can only be carried out during the night.”

Not all persevere, I see some faint, I watch them stumble.

Just before they’re never seen again their minds crumble,

They collapse inwards as another bulb in the city goes out.

My feet rest on the hot coals, heat fills my veins like grout.

And all the leaves get soaked in the ruby morning sun

Setting on fire the heads of our city’s sin-eating scum,

But they do not notice, no, with their horse blinders,

With their grubby paws they point and shriek:

“You know where to find us.”

-JW

Painting Lessons

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You can’t just paint my elbows blue whenever you want to.

Don’t dip them in watercolours and glue

Unannounced, impromptu.

I can’t smear all my blouses with paint that looks like bruises,

Can’t simulate the symptoms for you

Or your deceased muses.

All my summer dresses haven’t been ironed or washed out of fear

That you will grow jealous for me trying

More than once a year.

My jeans still hold juniper green stains from the day we met.

You still make my hair stand on end

With a single stroke and a threat.

-JW