Empty mailboxes and coffee stands,
Time dripping like sheen grains of sand.
My face is a mirror to your illusion,
My face is a mirror to your grand confusion.
Silky dresses and muted city skylines,
Breath leaking out after lost hindsights.
I assume your beauty is here to stay,
I assume your beauty puts me on display.
Harsh words and unwritten sentiments,
Broken hopes leaking from overused pens.
Your eyes poke my brain until it’s bleeding,
Your eyes suck the ink dry every evening.
-JW
And the birds drop dead on the ground before my very eyes.
It’s nothing but a sight of someone sacred getting patronized.
Isn’t it nice to just watch yourself outlive them once more?
Yet – I’m scared I can’t carry on without my wings getting sore.
So the winds keep rushing us towards an eternity tonight.
The air is hushing us but we’re drifting like loose kites.
And I know the time and place to drop is nearing way too fast.
It’s nothing but a fleeting memory of world not meant to last.
-JW
The monsters under my bed keep craving pure flesh,
The nails on their feet scratch harder when I try to start fresh.
But there isn’t a real bone in my broken body
So I never scream when they aim to cut or disarm me.
The monsters under my bed are stabbing my back,
Whenever I switch on the screen, they paint the room black.
And I know their feeding, they’re growing stronger each time
I let them pull me into the burning limelight.
-JW
Nothing lonelier on this planet than the idea of you
I abandoned in the wasteland so many moons ago.
Nothing harsher than what I said after thinking through:
“If one of us leaves, the broken one will still be you.”
But you kept swaying your fists at me in full speed,
Crashing porcelain promises, covering all the leads.
My back can take far worse, you can’t make me bleed.
Even with all the force, you can’t outrun my breed.
And you can no longer walk over me like you used to
When your spell was the only curse I would lose to.
Gather your tales and go tell someone else I used you.
There will come a time you will accept
You’re defused, too.
-JW
I hide away in the buzz between your lips,
Touching your fingertips,
Amending all the rips.
You hold my hair back while I burn out bright
But only during the night
While lost in this blight.
The oxygen in my veins sings for you, too,
Perhaps I’m your Waterloo,
Yet – I feel your blues.
I hurt for every bullet you take in self-defense.
One day we’ll make amends,
And meet where the sadness ends.
-JW
The spring is back in town
And my crowns are no longer made of wires.
Blossoms and moss grow on blood, crusty brown,
Spreading vaporized desires.
The leaves tickle slightly
As dazzling sweat trickle down the back.
You promised not to take my cries lightly
But the spring stole your tact.
My senses get attacked
With the vivid smell of primrose and tulip.
The chains around my wrists, once deep black,
Now clear and lucid.
The sun climbs in fast leaps
Over the tiresomely arrogant brick towers.
Its white light is a sweet, sweet release,
And I collapse in flowers.
-JW
Sometimes I feel like screaming is not enough,
Their backs turned against us,
Their words vile and rough.
And my heart breaks, it breaks time and again
About their ignorance
Drowned in stale champagne.
I could recollect all the stories one more time
If it meant anything more
Than the sound of chimes.
But the wind is passing through the town today
And I must follow the road
To chase what I crave.
To those staying back, watching me pack up –
Remember my face
When the times got rough.
I burned my feet for them and never gave in.
So call my absence a save,
Don’t call it a sin.
Because no one’s gonna pull me out of the fire,
I have to do it on my own,
Have to walk the spire.
Even if you think it’s not what you’d desire,
The faith will tie us together again
Just like haywire.
-JW
Wish I could cut you off like my own tangled hair,
Wash you out of my blood with one bright flare.
But even the color yellow reminds me of you
As I search the streets for someone new.
My lucky star has long given up on my heart.
You could burst it open with one well-aimed dart.
And I still think your touch was that much different –
Yet all it did was make me weaker and sicker.
I’m not a sticker that would hold as you please,
You owe it to me – let my pride die in peace.
But your head has long branded me as worthless
So I pray to the gods
That I never worshiped.
-JW
And sometimes your love leaves only a faint spark.
Nobody ever follows you into the dark.
Parting the seven seas seems like a distant memory,
An over-dreamt future we once treated like a legacy.
And your boots get more tired than you ever do
When they call you out for feeling black and blue.
What else there is to say than “light me up”,
Burn your life’s belongings in a rusty iron cup.
But let them eat your feelings with killing knives
Until they’re drenched in revenge, fully satisfied.
Because sometimes love burns in crimson heresy –
So beware the wicked selling you your own legacy.
Let that darkness out the chimneys, let it go up,
Throw the sparks in the air until laughter erupts.
-JW
I want to weep flowers on your whitest grave
In the middle of a burnt out winter –
No ashes left to save.
I want to tear my skin open in sharp waves
And sacrifice the shards to those
Hiding in voids and caves.
I want to drop on my knees in an empty field,
Sell the words I promised to save,
Sell all the golden shields.
I want to melt hot candlewax into my tears
And fall headfirst into the flames,
Bursting the atmosphere.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 