Tag: fiction

Whisper The Name

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My tongue gets sour and bitter, it dreams up revenge fantasies.

A while back I hired it a babysitter

But it still screams out violent prophecies.

They try to bite me with their fangs, strip me of the power,

Acting as the god almighty

While I recklessly destroy and devour.

And I know they refuse to be scared of my baby pink guts.

But my blade, it makes moves.

It doesn’t stop until someone else rots.

My teeth get blacker with each hex that I spew at their swords.

But they’ve brought their hijackers,

They take over my thoughts and words.

Although I know it’s too late, my tongue sharpens its knives

Ready to unleash all the hate

Right back at their crooked hives.

So the bitterness slips away, I trip on its tails while it passes,

And I’m fit to fight again

Until they whisper my name in history classes.

-JW

The False Savior

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Photo by Anna Shvets from Pexels

I sell and barter my last faith away

But I can’t be bothered

To save some for a rainy day.

In my view, it’s been pouring rain,

It’s been like this for ages, really.

So don’t turn my pages,

Don’t remove the flooring and pain.

And ask – who are you saving here?

My faith or your craving

To be close when I disappear?

But I’m steady where I stand.

Be ready to fight

If you ever dare to give me a command.

-JW

Humor Me

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What’s left out there to inspire me anymore?

My mind’s dry sense of humor

Feels like a foot in the coffin door.

So I’m just wondering – what are we aiming for

By blundering in thunder

With heels achy and soar.

It almost seems like I’ve lost all the passion,

Left it out for the fiends

To steal, abuse and just cash in.

My thoughts are sometimes the worst distraction,

They’re coded in Morse,

Only encrypted in small fractions.

The brain struggles to put a single sentence together

Until I’m all out of moral debts,

No ties left to severe.

So what’s really inspiring me in this icy weather?

The creativity’s refusing to humor me,

Each new day lasts forever.

-JW

The Haunting

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Trams pass through me at midnight, they’re all empty and sound,

And I stand on the rails pushing away spiky, grey clouds.

The silence disarms me but the darkness melts like warm butter,

My feet weaken by the second as shame angrily splutters.

The asphalt is the path of the forgotten – yet, my legs get weaker.

It’s a shame, really, I’ve only been running for one weekend,

But my high-flying morals have turned into a deadly splinter

That will kill off all my innocence by the next winter.

The red in my cheeks is crawling up to the whites of my eyes.

Perhaps I rushed when accepting this Trojan horse of a prize –

Even the road less travelled can turn into the bleakest routine

If you’re already a ghostly mist masked as a fine-tuned machine.

But escaping the truth can only get one so far, and I knew it.

I raised the seven headed dragon, then waltzed right through it –

Until it burned me to a crisp while I pretended to be its king…

Now I walk the streets as a wisp of charcoal smoke

With two scarlet scars replacing my rosy wings.

-JW

Note #914

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Trees by my window turn chartreuse, they have lungs to feed and souls to sting.

The birds return home with the highest of winds, bringing the first breath of spring.

My eyes feel like an anchor in this scene, they’re ruining the view with bright red fear.

The blood I shed for vile creatures keeps visiting at night, threatening to disappear.

And I worry – maybe I got out too late to ever pull myself back together again?

Maybe I truly played my last card, ceiled the faith, and lost myself as a friend?

The pound of flesh I offered them for free wasn’t an invitation to rob my skull empty –

But I thought once I left, we would be even, yet, I’m broken and they still have plenty.

So where is the fairness my ego promised? Where are the roaring melodies?

The life spins faster and faster around me but I no longer feel like its centrepiece.

And the trees get greener, the city gets louder, the sunlight numbs me to the bone.     

I pray each night to the gods I dethroned

That I still have the spite to never answer the phone.

-JW

Note #316

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Photo by Elti Meshau from Pexels

My anger never finds its rightful place.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I’m just taking up your space.

The past spins out of tune when I’m in doubt

About whether forgiving you

Was the best route.

And you have seven other copies of me

But I didn’t agree

That you can simply use them whenever I flee.

Still – you don’t take my words at face value,

Leaving me hungry,

Stripped of all the values.

I refuse to step down to your level

Because the anger’s too clever

To get shamed and called a rebel.

So bring out your best battle swords.

I’m shaking, I’m hurting,

I have a bloodlust for your wicked words.

-JW

Note #317

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The waves flush us bone dry,

They crush over us repeatedly.

You were once my Versailles

But your armor defeated me.

No, I’m not really your fool,

I’m just a victim of the times.

Sorry for losing the cool,

For dismembering your chimes.

Yet, you know I have a spite that bites

And two angry feet –

You can pick and choose your fights

But I’ll still be your defeat.

-JW

The Searchlights

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The voices get angrier when the big searchlight in the sky goes out.

They try to take me through the paths that gaslight and sow doubt.

I chase the intrusive thoughts away by turning into a bright red blot,

And it is not necessarily a goal of mine but I am shooting my shot.

I crawl on my knees through the darkened streets without any shame.

The sounds echo in my brain without finding a corner to tame.

But the stars above me look like silver clots in a dark despair sea,

The humming of its silky splashes tail my mind in a minor key –

Until there is nothing else, just another rigid body in the water.

Someone will pull me out with a fishing line, call me their daughter.

The cycle repeats, the runaway in me starts loving the searchlights.

Too often the happiest endings never happen

Because of the darkest nights.

-JW

Spliced

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Do you even remember when I caged up your cast iron heart like a bird of prey,

Breaking each promise I made to myself in the most exhilarating way?

And I buried that cage away, under unidentifiable skulls and pale blue plastic,

I dug it so deep that your clear voice turned into some rusty static.

The lucid sunsets I used to watch from my bed turned uninviting and dull.

All the air around me shrunk in size until the atmosphere was a screaming null.

I placed my palms on the marks in my skin you left without thinking twice…

So I hope you remember this time because I’m setting ablaze our splice.

-JW

The City’s Alive

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The windows of the old pharmacy glow loud in the pitch black night.

I’m at the street corner you left me on, facing my oversights.

The wires over my head get me buzzed like cheap dandelion wine

And a neon cross escapes the church, it slides down the steep decline.

Blue eyes peer out of gates and doorframes, looking for my scent.

The bricks from painted walls tell them, “We don’t know where she went.”

I sneak around parks, hide behind gravestones until the coast is clear,

Until the city whistles louder than wind – so my frightful ears can hear.

The last shadows of the night help me to pave the long way back home,

And the cars hum in unison, erasing the cool fear of ever feeling alone.

As long as I keep waltzing faster, I know I’ll escape all the harm.

This city will wrap me like a blanket, it’ll hold onto me like a charm.

-JW