Tag: Candy’s diaries

Tightly Sealed Freedom

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The three musketeers of the end of all things are coming to our town.

The fake sun is trembling and neon is shining through a worn-out frown.

Apathetic noon showers my neck with kisses it doesn’t really mean

And I can’t remember how I lost my lustful self and turned into a fiend.

The target on my back is turning redder each day, getting lighter by minute.

Once it gets as big as the Ritz, you’ll see how Fitzgerald is going to spin it.

I embrace the last days of this tightly sealed freedom with the force of a madman.

Not packing much for the departure as you can never be ready for badlands.

Scoria and erosion reaching for my pound of flesh, is resisting even an option?

I’m dreaming about running but doom might be the answer for this corruption.

“No, don’t listen,” I hear someone whimpering right beneath my bleeding helix.

The three musketeers are approaching in distance and I sigh.

“Let’s give this place another shot but not lend it any credence.”

-JW

Iron Boots

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Forceful interrogation tactics greedily pushed on fragile necks.

Overturned rules pawing their ways to palaces built out of gloomy wrecks.

No monster frightening enough to make me look back at the fear.

I’m not putting my head down for you, I’m tired of speeches so insincere.

Pressure me all around the clock, dig me some ditches and holes.

You’re still the one who compensates just to feed the moles.

The water you fed me was poison but why would you bat an eye.

You’d rather ignore the pain you cause and scream at the man in the sky.

I’m tired of seeing your filthy paws reaching for the promised glory.

While you’re building skyscrapers, I’m glad I reached the second storey.

So I’m keeping my head up despite you stepping on it with iron boots,

And if you decide not to shoot, we both might see the day when our spite

Turned damaged flowers into fruits.

-JW

A Pin Drop

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What do you expect me to say? There’s nothing left.

It’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop, or a heart stop.

All the exits guide to the left.

Was there any fresh love between the two of us anyway?

Maybe we left it to rot for too long and forgot,

And decided to give it another day.

Is there a nice way to say “thank you for letting me down”?

I hope you don’t overreact when I lose my selfless act

And start selling the love in pounds.

Why are you always so quick on your feet to chase self-pity?

The night I went silent the first time, you became the mime

And I ran towards the city.

…I should’ve known when you came back, it felt annoyingly iffy.

Tonight I’m shaking you out in beams like a fever dream.

I’m free and I’m claiming this neon city.

I’m turning my kisses into hickeys.

-JW

Whatever Rhymes

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We’re all raised with these naïve ideas of our identities but we don’t know,

We sing along to whatever rhymes and when it doesn’t, we amplify the audio.

“You’re not the bad day in your story, you’re not even the narrator.

You’re neither the background noise nor the all-knowing, sad traitor.”

This is how we’re guided through earlier years, believing it’s all there is –

Why wouldn’t it be, if it makes so much sense and makes our lives muy feliz?

The faster we grow, the harder it gets to find truth in those poorly written tales,

And with every piece of faith we breathe in, there are seven parts of us that exhale.

“You’re not the worst day in your story, you’re not even the almighty narrator.

You’re neither the background cacophony, don’t be a goddamn traitor!”

The more they repeat, the quicker you reason your way out of their crossroads,

And once the spell’s broken, the princes turn back into the ancient swamp toads.

But don’t be ashamed or worried – we’re all raised on these old world remedies.

We’re safe as long as it seems to a passerby that we’re still on our knees.

-JW

Blocked Out

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And I can’t spill ink on this page with all the pressure on my chest,

All the well-meaning souls yelling, knowing – it’s not for the best.

I can’t speak up when you only taught me how to be silent as a grave.

No second chance left for those who stab you to death

Claiming they’re trying to save –

Save what exactly, what are you protecting here?

The sound of your cruel intentions is unbearable to hear.

And I can’t waste time spilling ink for those who spilled their guts,

Re-imagining trauma, stealing my pain and romanticizing the cuts.

You can claim you’re also struggling but how does it make it better?

Analyzing my mind as if it’s yours, giving me a straitjacket,

Calling it a wool sweater.

How could you even assume I’m going to take that beating?

You were slamming my warmth but your soul has no central heating.

Don’t be mistaken, if I ever need someone to help me with the climb

I’m going to choose my own two feet over your cold shoulder

Every single time.

-JW

Symphonies

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The monster I raised is no longer inside.

No running or hiding from the spoiled evening tide.

Relief bouncing off walls, exploding from the chest.

I want to rest. I want to rest. I just want to rest.

Birds chirping to some long forgotten symphonies.

I dance and I swear, no one sees –

I can do as I please.

When I’m alone, I control all the seas

But only as long as the monster agrees.

-JW

Drunk on My Silence

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I used to get drunk on feeling blue about your love,

I used to get hyped when the push came to shove.

My palms sweating at your arrogance, heating up,

But I kind of enjoyed being there, being stuck.

The empathy I carried was too heavy for your shoulders.

The hate you poured weighed me down like a boulder.

I said: “You don’t have to agree but please listen.”

You snapped. “I hope your kind dies out of this system.”

The anger blinded my focus so I span out of control.

Tired of the middle ground, done with trying to cajole.

I used to get drunk on my silence to keep it nonviolent,

But I’m done thinking you can cut me open,

I’m done staying silent.

My voice has never been riant –

My blood is too defiant.

Try me. Try and challenge this bitter story

But you won’t make it taste more compliant.

-JW

Upside Down Morse

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Protected cruelty knows no limits so let’s make it learn.

No mercy for those who leave helpless bodies to burn.

The mission has failed us and a prayer or chant won’t do –

For every stab you encounter, I will gladly take two.

No space for safety in this place with no sacred codes.

I don’t understand, it must be an upside down Morse.

The message is unforgivably brutal to those who hear –

Out of all the weapons you’ve got, I wouldn’t use fear.

-JW

Bloody Coins

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Remember the money on the table, the bloody coins?

I didn’t touch it. Didn’t read the red talking points.

You stared in disbelief, as if I’ve cut you open for good.

You bit down on my fingers for pleasure

Just because you could.

Remember the jam-packed streets and our rendezvous?

It wasn’t a fortuity that I left the room raging blue.

The damage was limited but scarring was there to stay.

“No excuses for you to be insufferable again.

If you weep, I don’t pay.”

And once again – I stay.

-JW

Last Hope

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(dedicated to my past anxiety)

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You’re my favorite city light, my favorite paper cut.

For my every “if”, you have a concerned “but…”

And I don’t adore you that much when you cut my wings –

Yet you make my loneliness feel like gatherings.

(Maybe we weren’t the kings?)

Where did the time go while I stood perfectly still?

How come all the pages were burned in the paper mill?

You might not realize but it hurts – writing this verse,

Shouting at my future sliding before me in reverse.

(I must revenge the curse.)

Don’t mind me being foolish over another day.

My nerves are made of glass, my heart – of clay.

Correct me if I’m slurring through all the skull fractures,

I’m just learning this feeling was manufactured.

(Kill if ever captured.)

You’re my city of sin, my ghost town of innocence.

Every hope you mask with a crooked camera lens,

Shoot me twice in the chest, then wave the white flag.

The past seems fake, echoes are starting to lag.

(Fire, take out that drag.)

-JW