Tag: fiction

Cheap Misanthropies

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It’s OK, break the last hope in me and don’t hesitate.

Don’t you feel sorry for trying so hard to emulate?

It won’t be simple to live with this heart and this desire

But for five years in a row you have asked for it,

You’re the one to aspire.

It’s alright, take my friends and borrow my trophies.

Turn my beliefs into blow or cheap misanthropies.

If you ask one day – why does life hurt all of a sudden?

Don’t be afraid, put my body in dirt, sink it in a puddle.

It won’t help your struggle

But…

It’s fine, peel my skin off and read my diaries through.

My unexpected exit isn’t the reason I’m feeling so blue.

The crowds are wearing my liveliness over their shoulders,

Expecting to gain the power of a hundred soulful soldiers.

That’s what’s shaking my coffin, making me older

But what’s living without a little after-life odor?

One day we’ll mold the ones that were always the scolders.

-JW

Certain Kind of Happiness

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Oh, how I loved you… You must admit

There wasn’t place for anyone else to enter.

We never called it quits

But you mocked me as a mind bender

So I hid and covered my fits.

Oh, how lucky I am to see you go down,

And for all you’ve done, I’m not surprised.

Hope this makes your mommy proud.

Hope I’m the Trojan horse, well disguised.

Your agony is my prize.

Oh, how glad I was about it being over.

Your friends talked loud but I didn’t listen.

It was always my doing, giving you a cold shoulder?!

Hope your next mistress – she christens,

Because the bravery in you so often bristles.

Oh, how bitter my existence must taste.

You’ve been played, and I’m clearly the face.

I wanted to forget but now it’s all waste –

The times you screwed me over… No trace.

Remember – you called me ‘out of place’?

(Never challenge a hellhound to a puppy race.)

-JW

Leading Your Nightmares

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And I think you regret everything after all, don’t you, darling?

Who am I to guess your regrets after you came at me, snarling…

But the feeling was deeper than shame I exuded at the moment.

The warmth was taken aback the second true words were spoken.

I often dream about you having nightmares where I am the lead,

We’re talking loud, you’re being mean, yet – you can’t compete.

All your arguments crash against the surface of your shallow grave.

Who would’ve guessed? The most prideful of primates will go

Still lacking the skill to behave.

Don’t blame me – I didn’t have the time to dig you that ditch.

How many times in the past two years you called me a bitch?

Who can count? Certainly, not you, denial is the key to winning.

So today let’s cheers to the odds of you ever touching me again

Critically thinning.

-JW

My Best Bet

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The arcades across the street are tempting my senses.

You are holding my hand, asking not to leave,

Counting expenses.

Casinos all across the strip losing power at your sight.

There and then I drop the cigarette and know –

This is a holy rite.

Balancing the sadness and joy between coins dropping.

Burned out fiction worlds crumbling around me,

Expectations flopping.

My best bet is still you but the dices keep rolling.

Flush is not good enough and I know I’m done,

Even without polling.

Sometimes an overheard victory is a lose-lose game.

I kick open the door and sigh.

Took all the riches home tonight but – why?

All that remains is the absence of you and shame.

-JW

Ignoring The Doom

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Stuck in a bit of a hollow place lately,

Stuck in a loop, deluding everyone sedately.

Trying to fit accordingly on every surface.

The bending and breaking is making me nervous.

Trust me, I’m trying, I’m reaching for the sun.

Trust me when I say – my hand is a loaded gun.

Let me climb the barriers on my own,

Let me use resilience that I have loaned…

Don’t wait up when the floor creaks in my room.

Don’t worry about it, ignore the impending doom.

I promise to keep on stretching for the light,

I promise to crawl, even if I get scared of the height.

Keep my silence as a memory of the days I screamed

I guess my need to become timeless wasn’t what it seemed.

-JW

Velvet

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A lot of undeserved luck comes out of this moment,

And I don’t nurture the fear, I choke the opponent.

I’m too aggressive, they say, a real big sounder,

But really, I might go mute if I go a little louder.

Out of Seattle the mountain lions are sound asleep.

In this short sleeve weather I’m singing to “Creep”.

The orange skyline spilling wet honey on my nose.

Being myself is still the most dangerous dose.

The boots sink into the dusty ground, creating smoke,

Contemplating this weird existence, sipping coke,

Riding the blackest ideas out, smoking them like velvet…

You know?

Once the blade falls down, I won’t wear a helmet.

-JW

Three Lights

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Staying safe in between the busy railroads,

Running trains brushing off painted antidotes.

The trees lean on my clavicle, cracking it in,

And feeling good seems to be the original sin.

Leaves shaking my ribcage with seven winds,

Heart chambers made out of empty cans and tins.

Roots graying out but I’m standing my ground.

Seeing the three lights approaching

Kicks my recklessness, so new-found.

-JW

Chanting At Picket Fences

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Today feels different from the rest, you and I both sense the pressure.

These thoughts have never strangled me, I barely grasp the rugged texture.

The newscasters are casting spells, the words – not making any sense.

We hold the ground through unfair rains, we hide it from the violence.

We heed the facts so frantically, we hail them for our innocence.

No empathy fired from the other side though,

Silence building like a picket fence.

I see you through the white and gold, the metal gates keep clanking back.

The less you hear the rawest truths, the more you highlight what we lack.

What is the answer to your prayers? What is your plan for standing down?!

Let’s hope our chants aren’t distracting, please don’t be bothered while some drown.

…But there’s no shame in being proud for doubting wrongly taken crowns.

Don’t smile when burning the dictionary pages

To turn the word “voice” strictly into a noun.

-JW

Afterlife Circus

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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

Building A Lullaby

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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