Tag: daily writing

The Story, Retold

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Paint my face greyer than October mists

With the lightning bolts you strike

From your angry fists.

Dance around the subject when they ask

Whether exiling me

Was an easy task.

But never submit an answer worth their wait

So I keep being the last thing

On your plate.

A scandal or two won’t break a “good man”.

But if I play the cards wrong

They won’t understand.

And they’ll wonder where I went off the rails

When I accepted freedom

With all that it entails.

The next time you see me, call me an enemy.

Let my grey face fade

From your memory.

We’ll just play two strangers for everlong

As their thunderstorms

Paint the story all wrong.

Bleach

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I hold onto the cold banister

As they beg you:

“Please banish her.”

But you aren’t my punisher

So stand down.

Stay behind the barrier.

I know how to self-sabotage,

Say words like:

“We are meant to last.”

Then cut open the mirage,

Detach the wings

From the fuselage.

I contemplate my realities

As you wait it out

While the crowd isn’t pleased.

Fight again or appease?

The latter option

Feels like a sweet release

So I let go of what is out of reach.

Release the banister,

Let you win the siege.

Never trust those who preach

That life’s better

When soaked in bleach.

-JW

Don’t Take Me With You

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You swore to gods that your patience for me was long gone

When you cut me off like a deceitful con.

Even though you barely kept your head above the water

You never tried becoming a better father.

You stole time and trust from anyone who mattered

But my alliances were never scattered.

The night we last met your intentions were see-through.

I prayed – please don’t take me with you.

You never drove off that bridge in your selfish sadness.

Yet, you showed me the purest form of madness.

It’s been 6 years since I last heard your excuses,

But the pain you brought still feeds my muses.

And maybe, just maybe, you took me with you after all?

Because the rage I breathe feels like an endless fall.

-JW

Whisper The Name

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My tongue gets sour and bitter, it dreams up revenge fantasies.

A while back I hired it a babysitter

But it still screams out violent prophecies.

They try to bite me with their fangs, strip me of the power,

Acting as the god almighty

While I recklessly destroy and devour.

And I know they refuse to be scared of my baby pink guts.

But my blade, it makes moves.

It doesn’t stop until someone else rots.

My teeth get blacker with each hex that I spew at their swords.

But they’ve brought their hijackers,

They take over my thoughts and words.

Although I know it’s too late, my tongue sharpens its knives

Ready to unleash all the hate

Right back at their crooked hives.

So the bitterness slips away, I trip on its tails while it passes,

And I’m fit to fight again

Until they whisper my name in history classes.

-JW

The False Savior

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I sell and barter my last faith away

But I can’t be bothered

To save some for a rainy day.

In my view, it’s been pouring rain,

It’s been like this for ages, really.

So don’t turn my pages,

Don’t remove the flooring and pain.

And ask – who are you saving here?

My faith or your craving

To be close when I disappear?

But I’m steady where I stand.

Be ready to fight

If you ever dare to give me a command.

-JW

Humor Me

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What’s left out there to inspire me anymore?

My mind’s dry sense of humor

Feels like a foot in the coffin door.

So I’m just wondering – what are we aiming for

By blundering in thunder

With heels achy and soar.

It almost seems like I’ve lost all the passion,

Left it out for the fiends

To steal, abuse and just cash in.

My thoughts are sometimes the worst distraction,

They’re coded in Morse,

Only encrypted in small fractions.

The brain struggles to put a single sentence together

Until I’m all out of moral debts,

No ties left to severe.

So what’s really inspiring me in this icy weather?

The creativity’s refusing to humor me,

Each new day lasts forever.

-JW

Note #816

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I’ve drafted way too many goodbye notes to let you finish a single one.

I’ve shot myself too many times to ever trust you with a barrel of the gun.

Call out my double standards and swear that you’ll never speak to me,

Comfort your vividly green envy but let my wide eyes be your prophecy –

Don’t you ever follow me, don’t you ever step a foot in my direction.

Trust the gut that’s pulling you away from the path of polished affection.

The little perfections will turn into an avalanche that buries the strongest.

One day the immaculate snow won’t melt away until the middle of August.

Take my advice as a warning but don’t carry it home like a gilded shield.

You can’t learn a lesson worth your while if your lips are spitefully ceiled.

But I’ve drafted too many farewell addresses to give you any ink for free.

Put my silly words in a backpack, waste them over another nosebleed

Until you find your true creed.

-JW

Note #914

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Trees by my window turn chartreuse, they have lungs to feed and souls to sting.

The birds return home with the highest of winds, bringing the first breath of spring.

My eyes feel like an anchor in this scene, they’re ruining the view with bright red fear.

The blood I shed for vile creatures keeps visiting at night, threatening to disappear.

And I worry – maybe I got out too late to ever pull myself back together again?

Maybe I truly played my last card, ceiled the faith, and lost myself as a friend?

The pound of flesh I offered them for free wasn’t an invitation to rob my skull empty –

But I thought once I left, we would be even, yet, I’m broken and they still have plenty.

So where is the fairness my ego promised? Where are the roaring melodies?

The life spins faster and faster around me but I no longer feel like its centrepiece.

And the trees get greener, the city gets louder, the sunlight numbs me to the bone.     

I pray each night to the gods I dethroned

That I still have the spite to never answer the phone.

-JW

Note #316

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My anger never finds its rightful place.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I’m just taking up your space.

The past spins out of tune when I’m in doubt

About whether forgiving you

Was the best route.

And you have seven other copies of me

But I didn’t agree

That you can simply use them whenever I flee.

Still – you don’t take my words at face value,

Leaving me hungry,

Stripped of all the values.

I refuse to step down to your level

Because the anger’s too clever

To get shamed and called a rebel.

So bring out your best battle swords.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I have a bloodlust for your wicked words.

-JW

Note #185

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I hope you bite open the misery pills like I did,

Choke on their acidic poisons

Covered in your whitest fibs.

Don’t call dibs on my morals, not just yet.

The walls are closing in on me

But the floors are soaking wet

And they might cave in to set me free

From the last torture device in this town

That still brings you glee –

The lava leaking down my back.

Oh, the irony, the always fruitful tree.

I was never your problem,

Yet, you insisted that it takes tree

To love, to tango, to cause a riot…

I was a wild mango and you threw me out

Pretending I’m too rotten to be on your diet.

So tell me – how does it feel right now

When all you taste is bitterness

And every second is a waste somehow?

I hope you bite open the misery pills soon,

Choke on the sentences that branded me

Forever your little fool.

-JW