Tag: Candy’s diaries

Conjure The Storms

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“You never write about bright things and calm meadows,”

She says laughingly, cocooned in white blankets,

Sipping on Bordeaux.

“You don’t mention honeycombs or the soft skin of your lovers,”

She whispers leaning closer, teasingly smirking

Over the covers.

And she’s not wrong, her sweet breath makes my shoulders tense

But I’d rather trade this all away

Than give my life a tinsel-lens.

She’s always right to call out my sad little trope of a life

Whenever I drown too fast in its glory,

Yet – I’d never be dressed in white.

“Hold back your “sorry”s before you paint my pages all vivid,”

I sigh, anxiously spinning a pen in my cramping fingers.

She feels so livid.

When I gather the courage to look back at her surprised face,

I don’t notice a tear or a wrinkle,

She knows she’s won this case.

“And you’ve been put in this world only to conjure the storms,”

She mumbles to herself, graciously, ferociously.

The bites in her stare come in swarms.

-JW

The Secrets Of Mahogany Street

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All the leaves are soaked in the ruby evening sun

Setting over the heads of city’s sin-eating scum,

But they do not notice, no, with their horse blinders,

With their grubby Bibles, one cent for seven binders.

The dusk flourishes in all its glory, it nourishes me.

The smooth silk of the night covers us in polishes and glee,

And we’ve been starving for a silent moment like this,

Trembling as the mahogany monsters tie up our wrists.

The buildings surrounding us stare too stoically –

Scarlet lights make this scene taste of crude loyalty.

We’re taken down the street, blinded and submissive.

Not a sound in the salty air, it’s not the noise we’re missing.

The wicked walk comes to a full stop, the wires loosen,

We see the city glisten miles away, we listen to the music.

Perfect circles forming around the maroon shine of the fires.

I’m ready to revolve around the flame, my heart’s a liar.

As the bodies grow warmer, the monsters grow greedier,

The creatures sneaking closer to our necks seem seedier.

But if we just keep up with the song, we might be alright –

“These dark rituals can only be carried out during the night.”

Not all persevere, I see some faint, I watch them stumble.

Just before they’re never seen again their minds crumble,

They collapse inwards as another bulb in the city goes out.

My feet rest on the hot coals, heat fills my veins like grout.

And all the leaves get soaked in the ruby morning sun

Setting on fire the heads of our city’s sin-eating scum,

But they do not notice, no, with their horse blinders,

With their grubby paws they point and shriek:

“You know where to find us.”

-JW

Painting Lessons

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You can’t just paint my elbows blue whenever you want to.

Don’t dip them in watercolours and glue

Unannounced, impromptu.

I can’t smear all my blouses with paint that looks like bruises,

Can’t simulate the symptoms for you

Or your deceased muses.

All my summer dresses haven’t been ironed or washed out of fear

That you will grow jealous for me trying

More than once a year.

My jeans still hold juniper green stains from the day we met.

You still make my hair stand on end

With a single stroke and a threat.

-JW

The Luxury Tiling

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They said if I worked harder, I would chase down the dream,

So I overthrew my best intentions, cut out my own spleen.

Now the man I love only tolerates me for the bright sheen.

The splinters in my cheeks are a part of some grand scheme.

No place for love at this side of the Coney Island type of paradise.

I suck it up, it can all be taken away with one roll of the dice.

Too bad – it is not me holding the winning cards or the casino keys,

And I want a seat in heaven but my place is on my knees.

They said if I ran faster, I would catch up with the rest –

So I braved the mud, rolled over on my back to be the best.

The one I love ignores how everyone calls him “The Blessed”.

He never learned the rules of conduct when it came to playing chess.

No space for errors at this crude side of the town, keep on smiling.

I hold it in until I am home, there I destroy all the luxury tiling.

Too bad, it is not me holding the credit card or the upside down frown,

And I want a seat in heaven but first I must get out of this town.

-JW

Fireworks In A Bottle

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Violent thoughts rolling down the hill like an old tire.

We both know too well –

As long as you’re in this city, it won’t catch fire.

Not for the lack of trying, not for the lack of toluene –

My charcoal palms prove

The combustion was never once obsolete.

Violet treetops and lavender sunsets keep me at bay.

As long as you shush me

The world will wake up to another tranquil day.

The ghost pepper burning inside me painfully swells

But we both know it –

The flames won’t hurt until the passion sells.

-JW

There’s Music In My Madness

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Seven scratches on my knees from the rusted barbed wire.

I chase my shadow down the rabbit hole, it’s dark and dire.

In the office building across the street they don’t let Barb retire.

I smile and my bright grin hides the more disturbing desires.

My boots softly lick the pavement as I quietly fantasize

About the good old days when city crowds weren’t polarized.

They’re kicking Bryan out of his home just to catalyse,

Just to prove that even the innocent can be penalized.

All the righteousness in my fists can’t fix the casualties.

Their records are clean because they remixed the guilty pleas.

I hear all the worst things in life come to you in threes

So let’s hope they enjoy the waltz I’ll play

On the blackest of keys.

-JW

The Spin

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The sentences you murmur get entangled with mine, it’s funny,

Almost a coincidence, almost like you’re into this for the new money.

You feel intuitive, just like the paintbrushes between my fingers.

The word on the street is you can’t manage your anger, it lingers.

You grip the wheel until your knuckles turn white when I tease you.

You’re not into people, you’re only into things that please you.

Why am I watching your brain fall apart, why am I even here?

No willingness to fix the issues. No pretend, no love and no care.

But somehow your hold around the folds of my brain is stronger,

It’s puncturing my fragile strings, it’s making the dawns longer.

When the evening rushes towards me, all the notions dissolve.

I let your words speak for themselves

And they never evolve.

-JW

All The Dead Muses

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Paint dripping into the grass, paint dripping down the walls.

It’s a scene, it’s a vice you can’t buy in the mall.

The room was all white and we turned it vivid blue –

It’s a parody of the invasion of Normandy, it’s our Waterloo.

The charcoal in my palm tastes sullied and bitter,

Feels as if the story of me was never written.

Colours poured down my spine, colours all over the stage.

With each brush I rip apart, I satisfy my rage.

The ink between your fingers is stickier than nectar

And I bite down with force like Hannibal Lecter.

But I can’t hurt your skin or your skull, or your veins –

Gonna be a cold day in hell when I burn your remains.

My palms draw your lines and lumps for one more time.

Your hair exudes the smell of long broken pines.

Paint leaking onto the floor, paint dripping from your lashes.

You meld into the walls, you vanish in flashes.

-JW

The Gallows

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Your love is like a noose

And all the witches must be hanged.

The people who choose to look away

Are executioners too.

They can’t be saved.

If I only knew back then

The lengths your self-hate goes,

I would know when to leave.

But I was naïve

And it shows.

I heave from the pressure,

My nostrils shut closed.

Your soul’s a damn fixture,

The bruises you leave

Are your favourite ghosts.

Yet your love is still a noose,

No witch can be spared.

Some win and some lose.

But if you look the other way

You can’t be saved.

So hang me if you dare.

-JW

The Road

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Let’s follow the blood splattered in the glistening snow,

Let’s take the path neither of us ever wanted to go.

The branches shuffle over our heads like playing cards,

The claws of the cold are sharp, they’re pointier than darts.

But the path has no ending and we can’t catch a break.

The air leaving our lungs freezes the nearby lake.

Might as well be an underwater scene or the desert –

We ignore the view when the truth is unpleasant.

The roads will take us home, treat the open wounds,

Get us to the finish line before the bloodhounds

And keep our numb hands clear of all the past misdeeds.

One more step and they will let us live

As long as we bleed.

-JW