Category: Other

Note #914

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Trees by my window turn chartreuse, they have lungs to feed and souls to sting.

The birds return home with the highest of winds, bringing the first breath of spring.

My eyes feel like an anchor in this scene, they’re ruining the view with bright red fear.

The blood I shed for vile creatures keeps visiting at night, threatening to disappear.

And I worry – maybe I got out too late to ever pull myself back together again?

Maybe I truly played my last card, ceiled the faith, and lost myself as a friend?

The pound of flesh I offered them for free wasn’t an invitation to rob my skull empty –

But I thought once I left, we would be even, yet, I’m broken and they still have plenty.

So where is the fairness my ego promised? Where are the roaring melodies?

The life spins faster and faster around me but I no longer feel like its centrepiece.

And the trees get greener, the city gets louder, the sunlight numbs me to the bone.     

I pray each night to the gods I dethroned

That I still have the spite to never answer the phone.

-JW

Note #316

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My anger never finds its rightful place.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I’m just taking up your space.

The past spins out of tune when I’m in doubt

About whether forgiving you

Was the best route.

And you have seven other copies of me

But I didn’t agree

That you can simply use them whenever I flee.

Still – you don’t take my words at face value,

Leaving me hungry,

Stripped of all the values.

I refuse to step down to your level

Because the anger’s too clever

To get shamed and called a rebel.

So bring out your best battle swords.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I have a bloodlust for your wicked words.

-JW

Note #185

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I hope you bite open the misery pills like I did,

Choke on their acidic poisons

Covered in your whitest fibs.

Don’t call dibs on my morals, not just yet.

The walls are closing in on me

But the floors are soaking wet

And they might cave in to set me free

From the last torture device in this town

That still brings you glee –

The lava leaking down my back.

Oh, the irony, the always fruitful tree.

I was never your problem,

Yet, you insisted that it takes tree

To love, to tango, to cause a riot…

I was a wild mango and you threw me out

Pretending I’m too rotten to be on your diet.

So tell me – how does it feel right now

When all you taste is bitterness

And every second is a waste somehow?

I hope you bite open the misery pills soon,

Choke on the sentences that branded me

Forever your little fool.

-JW

Note #317

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The waves flush us bone dry,

They crush over us repeatedly.

You were once my Versailles

But your armor defeated me.

No, I’m not really your fool,

I’m just a victim of the times.

Sorry for losing the cool,

For dismembering your chimes.

Yet, you know I have a spite that bites

And two angry feet –

You can pick and choose your fights

But I’ll still be your defeat.

-JW

Sacrificing The Voice

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And I digress from the compromises I made,

From the lies I confessed.

My eyes surrender to the horizon this time

And the highs reach out to me,

They engulf me in peace –

So I profess.

The chants are left behind as I levitate,

I raise both my hands to the sun,

Hoping it’s not too late.

There is no noise, faith decides itself again.

And my voice leaves

Just like another murmur,

Whirling with the first spring leaves.

-JW

Spliced

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Do you even remember when I caged up your cast iron heart like a bird of prey,

Breaking each promise I made to myself in the most exhilarating way?

And I buried that cage away, under unidentifiable skulls and pale blue plastic,

I dug it so deep that your clear voice turned into some rusty static.

The lucid sunsets I used to watch from my bed turned uninviting and dull.

All the air around me shrunk in size until the atmosphere was a screaming null.

I placed my palms on the marks in my skin you left without thinking twice…

So I hope you remember this time because I’m setting ablaze our splice.

-JW

The City’s Alive

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The windows of the old pharmacy glow loud in the pitch black night.

I’m at the street corner you left me on, facing my oversights.

The wires over my head get me buzzed like cheap dandelion wine

And a neon cross escapes the church, it slides down the steep decline.

Blue eyes peer out of gates and doorframes, looking for my scent.

The bricks from painted walls tell them, “We don’t know where she went.”

I sneak around parks, hide behind gravestones until the coast is clear,

Until the city whistles louder than wind – so my frightful ears can hear.

The last shadows of the night help me to pave the long way back home,

And the cars hum in unison, erasing the cool fear of ever feeling alone.

As long as I keep waltzing faster, I know I’ll escape all the harm.

This city will wrap me like a blanket, it’ll hold onto me like a charm.

-JW

Note #405

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I know this silly story like a bland Bible verse.

You offer me comfort – the inside of a hearse.

Because the ease you preach is a fine excuse

For worshiping nothing else but your abuse.

And your teeth get sharper every damn morning,

I have to run on empty to chase the four winds.

Your lips keep smiling but they feel loaded

With chemicals that would kill me like a rodent.

But I’m not the rat that you’ve been hunting,

You always seem oblivious to this one thing:

If you want to see your true enemy clearer,

You simply have to take a look in the mirror.

-JW

Your Left Lung

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You questioned whether the city isn’t overwhelming me these days,

I hid little anxieties in the rasp of my voice when whispering the “nays”.

Maybe just by an accident or a loop in the system you truly believed

That on Sunday nights I’m not punching the stewing hot air in my sleep.

You saw me crumble behind the walls, you crumpled up my courage,

And the city was to blame for all my fear lacking proper storage.

The others stared in disbelief and their fury made my nostrils flared,

Somehow I carried my worries home as my silly pride got bared.

And you condemned my choices but still talked about every single one.

This blame game is the worst side-effect of living behind the gun.

My trigger finger shakes when you run marathons with your tongue

But I’ve never wasted a bullet – so you can rumour away your left lung.

-JW

The Snake Pit

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Muted spring mist wraps around my ankles like poisonous snakes.

I’m bathing in vivid daydreams

But it hisses me wide awake.

I trip on my faint honesty, landing straight on the jagged edges

Of all that I couldn’t leave behind

In hotel rooms and on filthy ledges.

My temper drags me down to the bottom but who can blame it?

If you stain the first November snow,

You might as well paint it.

And you might as well drop the acts you’ve been lugging around.

Get rid of the sentiment,

Leave it at the lost and found.

So I stumble towards the sunlight, getting lighter, floating with my sins.

Some keep pointing out the exits,

No, I can’t take the hints.

I know it’s a race against the clock and I’m here running on empty.

But the snakes can only bite if I whisper:

“Please, help me.”

Therefore I seal my lips and move along stealthy.

-JW