Unwanted Appreciations

Photo by Daisa TJ from Pexels

Roaring applause is sweeping the halls, just roaring applause.

Where most saw a green light, I took a silent pause.

The lungs stopped expanding, they collapsed within me,

One final attempt by the sadness to gracefully kill me.

And some electric bolts shot out my holographic shoes.

You could easily find me if you followed the blues.

There’s a clock in my body right where most hearts lie.

It counts the times I’ve split my chin open and apologized.

The crowds get louder but my feet is fleeing the scene.

The rocks in my pockets dance like some cursed fiends.

But the sound of the claps still follows, even after dark.

Perhaps if I embrace their “thank yous”,

I won’t have to fight so hard.

-JW

History’s Greatest Heartbreaks

Photo by Nothing Ahead from Pexels

Writing letters to the ghost of your face in my window never helped.

My pencil was sharp enough to kill a man

But I stabbed books on the shelves.

I carved harsh words into the rocks hiding at the deep end,

Wishing I could take a jab at you instead,

Just to let go of this empty feeling.

My starving mind exhumed the memories and made me look

As the skeletons of our love faded,

Turned into thieves and crooks.

But maybe evaporation’s more beautiful than combustion,

And not all the history’s greatest heartbreaks

End in a crime of passion.

-JW

The Things You Leave Behind

Photo by Matthew T Rader from Pexels

Wish I could return your plain white T-shirts

To the hell loop where Satan caught three fevers.

The news call my exit a violent seizure

When you’ve barely loved me for two whole seasons.

Letters keep coming so I write off my pity,

Dry my hands in silk dresses from the long lost city.

Your bitter tears echo as my tongue grows slippy.

The diamonds you bought no longer fit me.

And I lock the gates, cover them in barbed wire –

In case I want to flee my soul and retire,

In case I seek out a gun for hire

To kill your belongings in a ceaseless fire.

Doesn’t mean I don’t have the means to do it,

To drown the reminders, all the nights in Munich.

But they won’t imbibe touline or lighter fluid

And I know one day I’ll profoundly rue it,

This abyss of my own wrong doing.

-JW

Humming

Photo by Rachel Claire from Pexels

I wish for a dreamless sleep,

I beg for a drugless lullaby.

Each time the covers bleed,

You don’t stay to apologize.

The window cries in chrome

And my pillows collect dust.

They say you can’t build a home

With pure anger and lust.

But I beg to differ, dear,

My heart sparks neon for you,

It trembles when you’re near,

When you make me into a fool.

So the sleep never comes,

The mind hums like a buzzed dame.

Still – out of all the loves,

I’d choose yours all the same.

-JW

The City Calls

Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

The walls within this sickly concrete sea monster always look too dull,

The faces are greyer than October sky, barely sticking to their skulls.

I bury all clues and shotguns where I know I’d never step my foot again

And blend in with the walls, breathing in fumes and fresh propane.

The lines are long but I’m used to waiting for an uneventful death.

Each humanoid figure around is the same – everything but a real threat.

We submissively march to the music and lower our eyes when it stops.

Some ashy buildings appear on the horizon just as my stomach drops.

I can sense the electric nervousness strings overtaking the numb crowd.

This is the moment we could run for cover – only if we were allowed.

Instead we brace for impact as cement fills the streets, we are tongue tied.

We’ve been taught since a very young age:

When the city calls, you must always be ready to die.

-JW

Little Fictions

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite from Pexels

The rosewood door to your dream house still haunts me while I sleep.

I wanted to walk the highroad but you dragged me into the deep.

Withheld secrets spilled on the floor, sour air between our bodies

As you ask me to close the door from the other side

And find some better hobbies.

The keys to my old apartment hide in your closet with all the “sorries”.

I spend my weekends cutting little fictions out of our happiest stories.

There’s no way we got that far up the mountain just to die on a hill,

No way a pile of ash destroyed the paper palaces

The strongest fires couldn’t kill.

Now whenever I drive by your house, it doesn’t remind me of home.

You can change the paintings and curtains, but you cannot rebuild Rome.

Every new morning comes with another ounce of sharpened lucidity,

And I hope it cuts my pride open just enough

To defy your gravity.

-JW

Framing Her Name

Photo by Thaís Silva from Pexels

She shaves her head and clips off her wings,

Readies her limbs, sells all ruby rings.

The embroidered clothes fall into flames.

“I won’t be needing gowns for dames.”

There’s a spot between the nearby roofs

Where her heavy head goes hunting spooks.

But tonight the chest fills up with dread,

The body seems to be glued to the bed

And iron chains are holding down her name

So it can’t be lifted and put in a frame.

“No change is easy, let the fire pass through.”

She sinks into the pillows,

Lets her spirit throw a coup.

-JW

The Judge

Photo by Oleg Magni from Pexels

Spent another day in my own basement letting the rain dull my thoughts,

Arranging a courtroom in my unfair mind, bowing to rusty metal gods.

I hear the jury sitting down upstairs, I hear the judge using his new gavel.

My brain’s ushered away to be used as evidence in this case yet to unravel.

The court proceedings fill me with dread, they’re agonizingly numbing.

Yet – my spite’s done with beatings so I choose to abuse thy cunning.

I watch my mouth spew sharp arguments, all based on years of correcting me.

They dig deep even though I promised to never call myself an enemy.

My tongue splatters acidic liquids over the already damaged wallpaper

And the windows shatter in deadly pieces, ready to let me meet my makers.

The body’s giving in to the pressure so I really start wondering – how come?

Why do I keep fixing the floors and ceilings if I still call this palace a slum?

But you know the answer, and so do I.

The judge catches me in a terrible lie

I’m bound to another day down here,

Self-imprisoned, ready to disappear.

-JW

Picking Wildflowers

Photo by alleksana from Pexels

There’s a meadow I visit in the loneliest of hours,

A meadow I disguised so it could be just ours.

I walk through it barefoot even when the bees sting,

Even when the peace is over and a blade is the king.

My basket fills with various poisonous flowers.

I pluck them ‘til I run out of my made-up powers.

Then I set the sunny field on fire with my hexes,

Sparks flying violently from my solar plexus.

The leaves burst into diamonds and crescent moons

Highlighting the dimness of these pale noons.

And I waltz back home through the deep forests

Wishing my wildflowers will make a man honest.

There I get my pipettes and spatulas in order –

I bought these after you called me a hoarder.

Drop by drop the deadly mixture comes alive.

My mind is buzzing roaringly like a hive.

And you beg for forgiveness but I can’t hear,

I get high on the sound of your worst fear.

So I hold the goblet and ask you once more:

“Who are you to rob me of all the valour?”

-JW

Red

Photo by Min An from Pexels

The Red is piercing my skin and pushing furious tentacles out of my neck.

With every heartbeat the scene turns brighter, I’m caught in a self-made wreck.

The green contact lenses I’m wearing can’t hide the pressure raising within,

I know my eyes glow in sultry carmine, I know I’ve lost my linchpin.

The nails click on surfaces, they dig into walls, they pull out my own hair.

The Red comes in waves and it leaves me crying for a chance to fight fair.

But they own my guts and let me sleep in them, too, just for another payday –

So I snap at myself for reasons unknown, convinced that I’m their prey.

The Red punishes me, it holds my nerve ends under deadly avalanches.

Fixing the damage feels like welding together burned and broken branches.

And soon enough every part of my torso is covered in a crown of flames

So I let the yet untamed Red out to play with its creators,

The instigators of my deep shame.

-JW