Cigarettes

Photo by Emma Li

I smoke cigarettes on the balcony,

Hoping you still remember me.

I walk shakily in the middle of the road,

Hoping you know I feel alone.

Last November left us in ruins.

You left and turned me inhuman.

I smoke cigarettes on the balcony,

Erasing you like a prophecy.

-Jackie

Pointing Fingers

Photo by Nano Erdozain

What exactly is my crime this time around?

I see it in your eyes and feel it on your skin.

The rage is turning you into a wild hound,

And this rusty edge I balance is paperthin.

We were a good match, one for the books,

But my razorsharp tongue cut out some pages.

Your glances were nothing but wicked crooks.

Still, it was you who called me a bloody mage.

Do not flatter yourself, you cursed soul.

Accuse me, berate me, but do not bawl.

Pointing fingers cannot make your heart whole.

Stand beside me as jury makes the call.

-Jackie

Your Kind

Photo by Diana Smykova

If I had a dime for each time you almost said you loved me,

I would be swimming in your exaggareted tears and apologies.

My best was the default, but your effort was a diamond token.

You striked down my boundaries with your logical fallacies.

There might be regrets, there might be a few smooth words,

Yet I am sure they will mean as much as your faint guarantees.

Do not come knocking, do not lean against my scarlet doors.

There is no value in seeing your kind on your brittle knees.

-Jackie

Cry Wolf

Photo by Mak_ jp

Does your skin crawl because of these decisions I make behind your back?

Does your blood run cold, or do you feel like my twisted stories track?

I tolerate your love, but I hate it when you look at me like a sick puppy.

You do not deserve my worst, but you do not deserve any better, honey.

So, do you feel my body pulsating as I crave somebody else’s flesh?

You think that your words are sharp, but I can see through the tearing mesh.

One fine morning the bandage will rip itself off and I will infect the tissue.

You will cry wolf again, but I will not even remember to miss you.

The Mess

Photo by Daniel Sarmiento

Milk spills on the kitchen counter,

And I spoil your thoughts until they turn sour.

I might not be the angel you invisioned,

But my nails are growing sharper by the hour,

And soon enough I will make the incision.

I will kiss their necks and drink their wine

Until someone messes up my blurry vision.

Despite it all, I will call that mess mine.

-Jackie

Watcher

Photo by Giovanni Filograno

This life devours you bite by bite,

And I watch stoically.

I save my own might.

I cannot win your fights,

Cannot heal the gnarled scars.

I gave up that power.

Therefore, I stay in my car.

You slowly turn into a whisper.

No one asks to speak up,

No one stays to listen.

But their eyes glisten,

And mine do too.

You told me I was selfish.

I wish that was not true.

-Jackie

Just A Warning

Photo by Plato Terentev

The operators are all busy answering silent callers,

And I do not blame them for ignoring my screams.

The pebbles in my shoes are cutting open my feet,

But if I keep my eyes closed, I will tear at the seams.

Tongues press against my neck like a warning.

Their sour breaths sneak up my nostrils and I wretch.

The operators are all busy watching me suffer,

And I know they will clap when I reach the edge.

-Jackie

In This Corner

Photo by Fidan Nazim qizi

My demons come out of the woodwork when you flutter your lips,

And I wish I could be invisible when you trace them with your fingertips.

This town was never too kind to me, but I learned to brave the winds.

If you stay in this corner with my ghosts, you will have to love my sins.

-Jackie

Big Screen

Photo by Hashtag Melvin

Did we lose our way in the harrowing darkness?

The credits are rolling, but no one’s getting up.

The quiet is smothering me with pale arms,

And it seems like the fate has spilled my cup.

Did we lose our humbleness between the lines?

The saddest church bells are crying in the distance.

I have made my peace with the blinding lights,

But I doubt I’ll grow fond of my own existence.

-Jackie

Body Bag

Photo by ALEKSEY DANILOV

My body begs me to stop for a moment,

But that plan collapses with the others,

And my aspirations stay hungry

As I feed on the suffering of my brothers.

My head is running itself into the ground,

Yet it feels like a solid surface.

The ice feels nicer than my pillow.

I wonder if the pain really has a purpose.

-Jackie