Tag: Candy’s diaries

The Show Mustn’t Go On

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I lit thirteen black candles to get you out of my four chambers

And I prayed to the gods and devils, even some saviors.

Every last belonging of yours I tossed out of the blurry window,

Every corner of my cell I cleaned, still –

You called me a bimbo.

Or was it my shattered ego throwing a tantrum once again?

I can’t compete with this, your venom is my ritualistic sin.

Four days I’ve been counting the seconds to our next row.

Baby, I’ll hit where it hurts but you’ll always go low.

Shows like this mustn’t go on, despite the audience chanting.

Whenever we crash again, they’ll call it a fabulous landing.

I’m over being type-cast as your next big step to freedom.

If you grow your demons for too long,

Someone needs to feed them.

It won’t be me, unfortunately, I’d rather run with my heathens.

The neon city might crash my bones but I’m not looking for Eden.

The next time you come down from the clouds pale, empty handed

Please keep in mind – it is still me you carved and forever branded.

You were never stranded.

-JW

Décolletage Cuts

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My promises are as cheap as my perfume

But, love, I paid for it with my pride

So don’t stick it up my nose, let doom be doom.

…I’ll meet you on the other side

Without your backstabbing smile.

My hopes are as low as my décolletage cuts

And don’t try to convince me that it’s too much

Because two-faced boys dance where everything rots.

I’d suggest we never keep in touch.

I wasn’t the joke but you treated me as such.

My past is as vivid as my lipstick stains

So don’t play with the devil to ease your pain,

Don’t suck me dry just to fill up your veins.

Take your ego down the shallowest of drains –

Or keep your distance, stay in your lane.

-JW

Afterlife Circus

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Boys on television recreating circus acts from afterlife.

Dancing on technicolor dreams, reflecting futures so bright…

I’m on the other side, vinyl and denim bruising my knees.

He says: “Baby, breathe through it, you’ll live as you please.”

The grass is greener in the shows though and I cannot stop

Imagining that I’m the cursed one, making every episode flop.

They praise bad luck as if it’s fortunate you cannot sleep

And you have to hurt another night, sinking more than a neck deep.

Somedays I’ve lost the remote, the pictures don’t pop up.

Whenever I find it, the times have changed, my spine drops.

Is this a horror show or maybe a well-timed afternoon trick?

If not… The boys on the TV are making me gravely sick.

-JW

Vault

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I’m willing to take the risk and sneak into the vault again.

You asked me to bring another shadow so I’m giving up the oxygen,

Putting on the rose armor, tying my laces, picking out rebellious thorns,

Wearing the faux leather helmet and imagining it has three horns.

I’m scared for my life to take the journey, to rip out another page,

To bring it back for others to read, then burn…

As if manuscripts really aged.

You know better than that, no unholy texts needed to rip me apart

But sometimes in order to receive your hits, I must work incredibly smart.

So I’m tightening the screws in my jaw, preparing the camouflage –

This time I have confidence that even the darkest caves won’t dare to sabotage.

No matter how many times I promise I won’t dig up the raising heart,

I’m always willing to sneak down one more time…

As if painful sacrifice really lived in this art.

-JW

Another Disaster in Time

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I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and coming to terms with the fact

That the one bullet I cannot escape is being true to myself.

No, I’m not an act.

Many say I lack vision, others claim I come off as abrasive, lacking basic tact,

But who really hears their whispers when life and I, we signed this secret pact.

It was a summer day and my chest was burning – it was bursting lies, spitting pain:

I’m lying on the floor, counting voices, waiting for someone else to take the blame.

My hand reaches for the last sip of poisoned wine.

Someone pulls the emergency brakes on the train.

I sit up, wide-eyed in disbelief and I swear – someone muttered my name.

Knowing everything I’ve learned now I’d say it was my consciousness calling me home.

Yet – that feeling wasn’t present, it felt like my future has dialed the crisis phone.

It struck me that as long as I got myself in this fidgety world, I’m not completely unknown.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and how without it you’re utterly alone.

An unmarked graveyard representing another disaster in time,

And, not to sound cynical, nothing’s blanker than a penniless crime.

So I’m pulling it all together, drawing a full circle – not betting a dime.

I must win the loyalty back. Be it a silent prayer or a pantomime.

-JW

Fox Force Five

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“No such thing as stainless dreams, why are you so hopeful?

Do you think art matters, do you think you’ll be a mogul?”

I take the words in as a slap.

He turns his back.

***

Save a rainy day for me like a silent film that I will skip –

Once I’m done with hoping it’ll be your crocodile tears I sip.

Of course, I’m just messing around, sharing my lucid nightmares,

Don’t take anything I put out there as a reason to feed your fears.

The lounge music is digging up curses thrown my way

But please, don’t you mind. When it comes to you, I only pray:

For your business to keep booming when I’m in distress,

For the child to arrive safely when it’s birthed by another mistress.

I budge and let you kneel when you prey your way back.

Hope you know it’s mercy, compassion and forgiveness I lack.

-JW

Partner In Crime

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After laughter comes either a storm or a signed peace treaty

Which might silence the rich or barely feed the needy.

Foresight is an artistic delusion, the future is delayed,

The bridge of this song rings true, yet the chorus is out-played.

Maybe we’ll call ourselves the raiders of the point beyond return?

You’re a little messy but it’s flattening my level of concern.

I’m not a room-reader and I don’t promise to keep you safe

But the undesired defects are kicking in, and my thoughts start to chafe.

The childlike sentiments must be cast aside, let’s play it honest –

No chance of surviving through this one if we play it modest.

We must escape even if I refuse to touch your open wounds again

Because my feet are too tired to hear the story about your left side brain.

So let’s ride it out and never speak of speaking, please, I’m done.

Let’s burn down this city, cut the ribbon and finally – just run.

-JW

Safer

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All the patience has drained, only sharp needles left in the sink.

I’m stitching my lips together, sipping blood like an unholy drink,

But the phantom thread is vanishing in my skin, leaving no marks.

I’m quoting Isaiah, howling in tongues, trying to drown the dark.

You can call my heart a grave robber but don’t dare to call it unfaithful.

The holy places I dug up left my mouth dry and heart – hateful.

Three ancient ghosts are screaming my real name over forests, so loud…

I hoped five inches of sand was enough to mask my past, safe and sound.

-JW

The Forbidden Years

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Where I’m from sorrow is taken as a precautionary pill,

It’s overused to create some sound while the world stays perfectly still.

Where I’m from street names are whispered, never yelled.

The babies are washed in acid and bleach, their shoulders are never held.

Where I’m from fluorescent lights have been forbidden for years

So gather your things – let’s walk to the neon sparks with all of our peers.

Where I’m from laws are not about restoring justice or peace –

They simply drip ink until the culprit is caught so it puts villagers at ease.

Where I’m from blackmail is applied evenly on every soul

But only the ones who run so fast their heels turn red make it out whole.

-JW

Doubting // To Another Day

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This story is only partly true so you will have to imagine the rest.

The re-teller never existed. To you she might seem real…

Or was it all a test?

No, no, I’m quite sure that the narrative is truer than the actual story

And the voice sounds realistic but also too arrogant.

(Has she ever muttered “sorry”?)

To anyone reading this – please don’t jump to conclusions harshly.

If you say that I’m to blame, I will accept it.

At least, partly.

So enjoy the show and take the orchestra home if you can’t sit through.

Because the drums and the violins might hit some chords

Resonating with you,

Too.

***

My head has been bed bound for a decade and counting.

Nothing grows in a ceaseless fire,

It’s a storm of blips. It’s a form of drowning.

The clouds move unsurely through the stickiest nectar.

I imagine this is what death feels like

Because anxiety is my faithful specter.

My limbs are tranquil while the chest goes full Urie

And the focus is stolen from me,

The emptiness is filled with fury.

What about the jury?

Are they still out and about, ignoring the verdict they are going to serve me?

I look around. “In the time of need did they all desert me?”

Helplessness locks my senses, the room turns black. I bow to the unimaginable.

Not the first time someone called my pain unfashionable,

Even easily eradicable.

Yes, my head has been bed bound for a decade and counting.

And yes, I can take another day of drowning.

I can take another head recounting.

But please take away all the shouting.

You’re not understanding what you are doubting –

And I’m simply looking for mounting,

For someone who doesn’t suffocate by shrouding.

-JW