Tag: depression

The Lock

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These walls echo my downfalls but stay deadly silent about the glistening highs.

One could argue I built them for myself, god, don’t re-examine my alibis.

Each morning the dread keeps forgetting itself – and maybe there’s even a chance

For me to escape what I’ve created, lose the lead sprinklers I got for hands.

But I can’t get past the chain link fences, like a spell they push me back inside.

The hellhounds I welcomed in this home know all the escape plans I lazily hide.

The floor spins on its axis, it melts away until there’s nothing for me to land on.

There’s wind on my skin but I can’t see the door, it’s covered by a phantom.

I keep hearing them say – you have to break these abysmal loops on your own,

And, god, I know I’ve built them myself, but would it kill you to pick up the phone?

Even if it’s a beast of my own creation, do I have to break out of its head alone?

Because I swear there’s one unknown lock on my gate,

Cast in envy green stone.

-JW

Your Left Lung

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You questioned whether the city isn’t overwhelming me these days,

I hid little anxieties in the rasp of my voice when whispering the “nays”.

Maybe just by an accident or a loop in the system you truly believed

That on Sunday nights I’m not punching the stewing hot air in my sleep.

You saw me crumble behind the walls, you crumpled up my courage,

And the city was to blame for all my fear lacking proper storage.

The others stared in disbelief and their fury made my nostrils flared,

Somehow I carried my worries home as my silly pride got bared.

And you condemned my choices but still talked about every single one.

This blame game is the worst side-effect of living behind the gun.

My trigger finger shakes when you run marathons with your tongue

But I’ve never wasted a bullet – so you can rumour away your left lung.

-JW

The Visitor

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When the attic door creeks, it’s a bit too late to leave.

Tell the crimson in your cheeks to fade out once you bleed.

When the curtains slightly rattle, only then choose your battle.

Enter the last raffle before you drop the selfish prattle.

Sneak behind the dusty closet, just ensure that you close it,

And keep the fear in your pocket, it will be your last deposit.

Grasp the rug with your nails if all these other tricks fail.

Lower your white sails while the others chase their tails.

Never make a confession while looped in a deadly obsession.

You must only use the Hessian if you want to hear the question.

And when the back door creeks, collapse on your own feet.

Tell the nerves in your beak, “We’ve made it another week”.

-JW

Osmium Head

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The tiredness pulls my lead limbs towards the ground,

Like a form of gravity that’s unspoken, yet unfound.

The strings that tie my will together weaken each day

And I hope they don’t snap but it’s too late to pray.

I chase down the healers, I seek out the warlocks –

They treat my burning tears like a poison hemlock.

I look for old scrolls in the most secret of folders,

The coldness in my spine slides up to the shoulders

As I turn the last page and there’s nothing to save me.

My osmium head keeps sinking faster in this dark sea.

The mirror image trembles, each night it grows fainter,

My body is the canvas and the heaviness – its painter.

-JW

The Showman

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I guess I’ll just burn in my own mind’s oven

Or throw out my resume and build a new coven.

The thirteen of us will meet in the fields

Where strong people rise and weak men yield.

I guess you’ll just watch me take back what’s mine,

Not a word will object this, only deep sighs.

Once the flames start climbing high over our heads,

I’ll give you a minute to make the amends.

But I guess we’re just never going to fix it,

Go drink all the betrayal, you’re the one who mixed it.

This one time I won’t burn for your petty pledges,

Pick up the shreds, don’t cut the claws on the edges.

And I guess I’ll just stand as the rest of them bow,

You said it’s not the right moment – but the time is now.

It’s your time to take the heat as an atonement,

And you can keep calling me a dirty witch but, honey,

Soon they’ll see you’re only a showman.

-JW

My Shame

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I threw my shame from the top of a mountain,

I drowned it in bottles and endless fountains,

And I even abandoned my home to lose it

But there’s no better medicine than facing the music.

I tripped over ledges in some haunted woods,

Lost myself in shine and Old Hollywood.

The shame kept crawling up my trembling spine

And the world laughed like I wasn’t worth a dime.

However, I knew better than letting it consume me,

Than running once again and inventing a new me.

I stopped in my tracks until it chased me down

And for a moment it was my time to drown.

But I can forgive scars that lead me to victory,

The stories of the vanquished don’t go down in history.

So once more I throw my shame from steepest hill –

This one on one battle will end with a kill.

-JW

December 18th, 2020

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Can’t help but wonder again – how many more

Pounds of flesh do I have to give away for free

To meet the norm?

And there’s nothing normal about this –

Shattering at 6 AM on a Monday morning,

Closing in on the dark abyss.

The pressure gets heavier each afternoon

So I stay inside to pity myself,

To curse at the moon.

But it reflects my chants like sunrays –

And there’s no way it ever gets better

If I stay.

There’s no way this story has a good ending

If all I grow to know

Is silence and pretending.

When my lips are shut, they grow stronger

On the power I gathered myself –

Until I can’t go on much longer.

Can I even go on from here, can I move?

Their tentacles strangle me

But what do I have to prove?

So I swallow the bitterness and resign the “sorry”s.

I don’t need a tougher skin,

I need to extract myself from your stories.

You can tell your greedy mirror image

To bear one more storm.

My part in this narrative is finished,

Recall your swarm.

-JW

The Birds

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And the birds drop dead on the ground before my very eyes.

It’s nothing but a sight of someone sacred getting patronized.

Isn’t it nice to just watch yourself outlive them once more?

Yet – I’m scared I can’t carry on without my wings getting sore.

So the winds keep rushing us towards an eternity tonight.

The air is hushing us but we’re drifting like loose kites.

And I know the time and place to drop is nearing way too fast.

It’s nothing but a fleeting memory of world not meant to last.

-JW

The Monsters

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The monsters under my bed keep craving pure flesh,

The nails on their feet scratch harder when I try to start fresh.

But there isn’t a real bone in my broken body

So I never scream when they aim to cut or disarm me.

The monsters under my bed are stabbing my back,

Whenever I switch on the screen, they paint the room black.

And I know their feeding, they’re growing stronger each time

I let them pull me into the burning limelight.

-JW

Through The Breaking Glass

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The mirror image is screaming through the breaking glass,

Asking whether it can leave me

Back in the past.

And I am leaking blue eyeliner tears in my morning coffee

Over yet another honed thought

Trying to cut me.

Who knows why one would choose to live in this mind

Seemingly made and controlled

By an enemy of mine.

Each move I make is a misstep but you already knew this –

It takes one look to notice

My eyes serve Anubis.

But it takes two to carry the weight in my secret pockets

So I cover the mirror again,

I chain and lock it.

My reflection objects less and less each coming evening.

It must have noticed how fast

Our chest is bleeding.

-JW