Nothing makes my days calmer than the absence of you.
And for some reason I didn’t have the power to let you go –
On my own, without someone pulling the trigger for me.
Only blank bullets rained on you so it didn’t hurt. Sorry.
But the taste of freedom is feeding my senses decadently.
I want to take in the moments as if they’re the last to see.
Maybe I’m mean but you burned me blue for your pleasure
So let me keep the memory of you leaving as a treasure.
-JW
Three days ago I was head over heels for you. I was craving
Passion so disloyal it had a hit on my moral savings.
The fire exits were blocked and Missio was playing –
I couldn’t make sense of myself, but the reviews were raving.
Two days ago I had envisioned our first crash together,
Like two junkies, and you giving me a jacket in cold weather.
Or did you hate the plan from my very first dream, altogether?
Was it just me thinking of two cigarette buds as of birds of a feather?
Yesterday you had to enter the room twice before I noticed –
Out of the low hanging fruits, you reached for the lowest.
It must’ve really stung when you saw yourself falling out of focus
But don’t call yourself the victim when your alibis are bogus.
Today you shot your warnings and ended up gravely heedless.
It’s funny to think – I don’t know a person that I could need less.
Despise that the warmth of your neck still leaves me speechless.
Must’ve been a nightmare if I decided to fall for another one
In a desperate need to be jesus.
-JW
Lately I haven’t been mentioning you that often
Or how one darn smile could make all the tension soften.
I haven’t been sharing our jokes — and that’s good, I suppose.
Your laughter’s translucent. I feel like I loved a ghost.
These days I barely remember the uneasy feeling,
The heaviness, crumbling pain, white wine on the ceiling.
Dragged my knees through the streets, painted them shades of blue,
But now the pink glass has shattered — and my worst instincts, too.
Often I see you reaching for solace through my front doors
But I’m no longer a kid and that makes you insecure
About what it is you did to make me despise your guts.
I would tell but I’ve got no interest to save you from ruts.
Way back you filled my thoughts to the point of aspersion.
I didn’t recognize myself, that was a different version,
A rip-off of me and everything that I stand for.
But, sure, you can privately call it ‘flirt to strengthen the rapport’.
Lately I haven’t been talking about you daily
Or how you abused me and then made the lines seem hazy.
I don’t have time for your acts — and that’s great, I’m proud.
My laughter’s all rapturous. Backbone remains unbowed.
The last time I wrote you I loved you so blind,
you, of all people, not the rest of your kind…
Had my mind in your palm and your teeth in my chest,
god, I was sure that you’re worse than the rest.
A substance I’ve tasted for the very first time.
And for what? So for the rest of my life I can no longer pretend
that I’m fine?
you’re toxic and drinking your poison is painful
But day in and day out you say — I should be grateful
Don’t need the next cigarette, daydream or drink
But it’s numbing my pain so I don’t have to think
About future, or money or castles of gold,
F*ck, I swear — this is how you’re last lover was sold
A fantasy of certainty and safety.
Where is she?
…
Where am I?
Or to quote Placebo –
where is my mind?
The feeling of losing someone so dear is way better
than being lost and only tasting the bitter
Intoxicating poison you raise in my throat…
Let me choke, oh, please, just let me choke.
And let me out of the choke-hold so frozen and evil,
your hands are no longer the good place, their grip so tight
it’s barely legal.
Lethal.
You’re stare reminds of a dusty poison ivy leaf,
The green eyes to kill for — they will kill me in my sleep.
…
Halsey serenaded some crystal green irises in her latest song,
And don’t understand me wrong,
I would still write a ballad about yours,
Filled with late night angst
and swear words…
It would still be yours, imperfect and fragile, and crazy,
Just like the author, irrelevant, hazy,
Teachable, but a slow learner and a quick burner,
The artsy and weird kind, you know, not a head-turner.
She will, however, stay close to your righteous and distant self,
Not because she’s courageous or looking for help.
There’s no help to be found while you bury her fading will,
and yet, she still see’s the emerald eyes and goes –
Be still, my beating hard, be still.
– JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 