dystopia – Page 2 – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

Tampered Heart

Two-faced wolves in my best friend’s clothing.

I look through my pockets so I could stop choking.

Would a tithing help me make it through this round?

These predators are quiet and their silence makes a sound.

The morning is approaching with its hefty promise –

I run to the west, I rush towards the congress.

Here the sun raises later and betrayal never stings.

The wolves choke on rivals while others plead to kings.

Wire-Eyes zooming in as I fall down on my knees.

He’s been waiting for a chance to politely cease

The suffering this city pours onto tampered hearts,

And I’m his favorite because I never play it smart.

Disheartened I crawl in a corner, sit on the icy floor.

My best friends come rushing through the locked door.

Just two-faced wolves in my best friend’s clothing.

I look through my pockets so I could stop choking.

-JW

How do they control me when I put pillows on my ears?

How do they contort me if rut’s as mellow as my tears?

They’ve been conning everyone. They cut those who share.

They’ve put lighting in the bottle and smut on the ones who care.

How are my hands empty if I grab straws while crashing down?

How were thy lands plenty when some steer laws like lashing clowns?

We’ve been shy but twenty is enough to make it out.

We’ve swum by their heavies, one more day to plan the route.

One day more and no more drought.

-JW

This is not a sunny city, all the light is sold on dark corners.

Too far for me to reach, too dangerous for my own mourners.

I’ve been too unwell to ask someone to buy that spark for me.

It’s not unfair to say that everybody here is unstable or sorry.

Stuck in my four walls, tearing apart every shelf to find it –

What if I stacked up on bulbs when I still had some fine wit?

The Wire-eyes on the radio keeps screaming out my oldest fears.

I pinch my forearm purple to dull the need to volunteer.

In the mirror room I notice how my scleras are now the reddest.

The radio station switches its ring to a plethora of menace.

They sentence me to another year of unrest.

“You can’t wrest guns away from someone under

Their own mind’s duress.”

-JW