dream – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

Afterlife Circus

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

The perfect balance does not exist on a faulty planet

And destiny keeps playing drums on polished granite.

The rhythm section is not coming along as planned.

It sometimes scares me – here we stand

Just to end up as few grains of sand.

I try to amplify the echoes but they all fall flat on the ground.

Plastic crates, even metal cages do not resonate the sound.

The lurking chords are getting wider with nowhere to go

So I talk in my sleep while it snows.

At least my nightmares have something to show.

-JW

I once had a dream where you picked up the signs,

The good, bad and human. The scratches and lines.

The backlash was making my vision blurry –

You never picked up on that, you packed in a hurry.

“Be my love, my northern lights and south pole,”

I spilled without thinking. Words swallowed me whole.

One look over the shoulder and out the door you go.

The room was spinning in light speed, sinking down and low.

Where did you buy the guts to walk away into the thunder?

We were so happy together, except for that one blunder.

Jack White was playing over our tragedy when the alarm went off.

I wake up alone between piles of white sheets with a bottle of Molotov.

The ringing in my ears has passed but my tongue is still dreaming

About your venomous blood, and how I cut it out of you when you’re leaving.

Piece by piece I drink it up from the pale, cold floor. Revenge is pleasantly bitter.

I open my eyes and shake off the nightmare as birds by my window playfully chitter.

-JW