apocalyptic – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

Leaving Ante: Part II

Dynasties of big-mouthed Roman generals in purple crawl the streets.

Spit and rumors everywhere, bald heads bowing their dirt-filled deeds.

But it’s not cheap to do the world dirty like that, to break a promise.

I was a kid back when I heard the last speech that was humble and honest.

My hate for the leaders made me hate my father, then – anyone who mattered.

If I had the option to save a friend or myself, I would choose the latter.

Not that I’m selfish or ungrateful, but the reality is nastier than fear.

..Maybe they’re close relatives? But what’s the difference if you can’t see clear?

(When I change for worse, I don’t want anyone near.)

So I carry on with a backpack filled with past disgraces, another one with future regrets.

Yellow bandana covering my dry mouth as the moon inevitably sets.

The purple crowds keep smearing truths back at the city, and I don’t mind.

I was raised to survive this war, not to lay my head down being kind in a fight.

-JW

I want to see the world light up and dance with the apocalypse,

I want to embrace letting my life go and die with you.

Jump with you into the abyss.

I’ll never fully own you and, for what it’s worth, I’m glad I won’t.

I’d rather see you in safe distance than in my fever dreams,

Daunting on every living creature I haunt.

But honestly, I’m ready to go if it means you’re right there,

Our palms touching, ground trembling with fear and excitement.

Pain is numbing, bruises – extremely severe.

Every building that goes down around us is another hope to survive.

I might feel like I’m dancing with apocalypse on my own

But as long as you’re alive, I’m not running out of time.

–JW

Devil only got in trouble because she spoke the truth.

As the barks of bad reputation got louder, we reached for the passion fruit.

Way down we go… I would do it all over again, bathing in holy water.

Not once will I scream or beg to the father.

Disobedience will become my alma mater.

***

I’ll be your friend until the heated end. Until the last leaf in the tree turns into dust.

When air turns to smoke, I’ll hold the corners of your mouth up until my palms are covered in rust.

Pollution will smell like musk.

The end will be easy though – surroundings will fade,

Your soul will get wanderlust.

-JW