Tag: A Few Too Many Fantasy Tales

Miss Neon Light

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The design is perfect but something is leaning off-centre,

Nobody seems to care, they keep preaching so gentle.

I just want to hold your hand one last time, before it goes.

Many elbows in my back pushing towards the midnight show.

Can I cry on the stage and make everyone oblivious

To how I’m barely hanging in there by my resilience?

Will the weight be lifted or will it never let me exhale?

Is this a nightmare turned into a Hollywood fairytale?

My eyes shoot every scene but I can’t make them focus

As I drift away to neon lit graveyards and locals.

The pattern is flawless but the story still sounds offbeat.

No one seems to notice until you’re the one burning alive

While they’re escaping the heat.

-JW

The Emptiness

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I’m looking for the thing that will make me feel hopeful –

I don’t need a lot, don’t need the social or the noble.

Some thrown out fantasies will keep me grounded

Because nothing satisfies the thirst, it can’t be rounded.

Don’t tell me to pray or to call my ancestors –

I’ve seen enough circus acts where kings play the jesters,

And I don’t get along with anyone who I should prefer

Because spirit lifts higher than blood, mark my words.

“Don’t throw away the guard

For someone you should adore.”

We’re all petty cheaters playing this over and over,

And we don’t get over it because we weren’t offered a shoulder.

Seeing these games rolling doesn’t make me more hopeful

But I’m not looking for locals, for social, for something noble.

I’m seeking that one thing that makes it all make sense

But I’m scared it was always just over the next broken fence,

Something taken away by a coincidence.

-JW

No Light

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Red lollipop between her pale blue cheeks,

She’s not taking any prisoners today.

Second-hand bag and third rate heels.

Her mother’s hips and dad’s ashtray.

She stands tall by the neon but feels so small.

Parents never lifted her up very high.

Never her father’s princess of the ball,

Always the first to get a black eye.

With so much fake light, it’s hard to see stars

But she squints each night to catch one.

When the scenery turns into cold iron bars,

She’s off in another car,

Pretending to chase a mock sun.

-JW

Through My Thunders

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Wish I could encapsulate you standing there in your Rolling Stones t-shirt.

When I look at you in dim mornings, I’m glad I never became a preacher.

But you’re still sacred, even though god and I – we’re done with discussions.

It’s a warzone driven by blackmail and terror because I dared to ask questions.

Wish there was a way to absorb you with my skin, wish touch wasn’t the limit.

There’s no surprise that the way you shine is mistaken for a cheap gimmick.

But you’re still worthy, even if banks have banned my face for the third time.

I walk the road covered in bankruptcies and negotiations of whether you’re a crime.

Wish someone could cure you of the spell that’s making you act this brave.

Whenever the rest is giving up, you come up with ways to nurture and save.

But you’re still dirty, covered in untreated calluses from yesterday’s wonders.

It’s a path designed by the rich or the lunatics to survive through your thunders,

But I’ll pull through. We’ll cross out the days and forget the numbers.

-JW

She Fights Back

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The rumors are true, my angels are laying with the demons this evening.

The good, the bad and the morally corrupt thoughts have lost meaning,

And I’m watching the clouds dance with a storm raising in my rib cage –

Will I stay alive if I choose to wipe the record clean and turn the next page?

Or will I repeat hell’s second circle, mixing trust with an appetite for lust?

The eleventh commandment said “In desperate times, do as you must.”

I’m watching the sky unravel the knots in my stomach by keeping a promise

To always keep me safe, as long as the pain in my chest still feels honest.

Red reflections surround my sun while it’s setting for reasons unknown.

Too soon to give up my ironclad ego, too late to go back to my tombstone.

And I let the rumors in, and I stand in front of my angels and demons tonight.

This is it. All the shame weighing me down can either win or make itself light.

She fights back. The sky is gazing back in affright.

-JW

The Pastor’s Call

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Sleeping on the floor again to be closer to an ice cold surface.

Vultures approaching me slowly, flying around in circles.

The pastor called to get tomorrow’s casket in my dimensions.

My name’s getting lost on tongues, no one really mentions

How I ran faster than waves towards a steep shore to make it –

The rest of the world swam in sun while my face was moonlit,

And no one asked whether being on top felt better than drowning.

While the world slept, I cursed out the moon like wolves howling.

Smoking out the window at 3AM, half-tired and half-ready-to-go.

Using good thoughts and prayers sent my way as something to throw.

Nothing helps the anger of someone knowingly left for the dead.

Sleeping on my floor again, wishing the cold could wash out the dread.

-JW

Lighting Flashes

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Steeper by the second, it’s growing steeper.

You’re in pain just to be your brother’s keeper.

Sandcastles built on concrete, I cannot oppose –

You build unstable structures

Always ready to explode,

Always crowded with ghosts.

It’s faster each moment, it’s getting out of hand.

Can you build steady hope out of grains of sand?

The hill has no mercy, we’re both so alike.

I have nothing to say

But they’re attaching the mic.

Lower with time, my spirit is being lowered.

The third pit of hell refused to be overpowered.

My left eye is seeking God, it can’t be right.

Before the lighting flashes

I’m thrown back into the night.

-JW

Old Emblems of Fear

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Looking for catharsis in the simplest moments –

When I begged a passer-by, he quoted the Romans.

Preaching release of repression through limbos and tears

Running by churches, bowing to old emblems of fear.

I might find it, I might even find it soon,

Before the last droplets of mist start their bloom.

But the peak is scarier up-close and I can’t compare

This mountain top to another plain moment we share.

The last battle of release is approaching, I can sense

As my limbs no longer hear their own commands.

The meadow connecting Earth with the sky is missing.

Let’s run for the summit right now,

Even if the divine is hissing.

-JW

Ana

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Hands on my body, her hands are getting me drunk.

It was hard to say no so I jumped off, I sunk.

All the flags are rosy if your eyes are pumped with blood,

If your “no” causes storms and a biblical flood.

Hands on my hands, her palms get me so damn angry.

The fangs pierce my neck and she keeps the pills handy –

Just in case I try to outrun my faith and leave her be

So she chants “it’s you and me, baby” like a prophecy.

Hands on my throat, her hands are taking my breath.

I’m ready to submit while she quotes Macbeth.

All the flags are red but she’ll turn you colour-blind

And you’ll only see the best your future can offer

When it’s already behind.

-JW

Intrusions

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Mascara running into my dark circles, charcoal.

Under my foggy soul there is an equidistant hole

To a different part of the path I’ve taken in past

Wishing that temporary things were meant to last,

And I was a different person when I promised

To play it safe when times become too honest.

Not a bitter tear of regret running down my cheeks

Because fear is how lion seeks out the hurt and weak.

Who knew I was never broken, it was an illusion –

A million little moments aligned, masked as intrusions.

I’m crying unflattering drops in a loose tank top

Hoping our daughters don’t have to run in a hamster wheel

Of beauty standards that flop

Faster than they can be stopped.

-JW