Tag: fiction

Honour My Wishes

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Unremarkable, irrelevant, overly talked about but never quite acknowledged.

They let the spiteful paragraphs fly, my nightmares turn into a broken promise.

The tears freeze in the cold December air, they form perfect salty spheres.

Grainy pictures slide by as my consciousness morphs into a guilty plea no one hears.

Honour my wishes, I beg you, honour them,

Don’t listen to the fat they’re chewing.

The lighting is unavoidable, it holds the clouds up

With the strong winds brewing.

Unavoidable, facetious, overrated but never judged fairly enough to fail.

They write down my every mistake, then distribute the list by mail.

The fireworks start, make me lose my sight and my sense of direction.

My ears ring as the thought bubble above my brain dissolves into friction.

Honour my wishes, I beg you, honour them,

Don’t ever let my feet touch the ground.

The destruction is immanent, wait it out

Until a new storm is crowned.

-JW

Gusto

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Can’t get out of my bed, can’t help humming the melody,

The one you sang while I was drifting off to sleep.

Yet I hold on to my sizzling ego, set fire to the lying tarot.

Each night I make the grave mistake of standing in your shadow.

Can’t turn away, can’t think of a place that I’d rather be.

I’m twisting and turning, counting all the lost sheep.

But it wasn’t a surprise when you forgot, it was long expected.

I was born to be mistaken for a woman who can be neglected.

Should’ve built dream chateaus,

But now I’m polishing your gusto.

Yet I hold on to my sizzling ego, set fire to the lying tarot.

Each night I make the grave mistake of standing in your shadow.

-JW

Anniversary

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I’ve ruined three hundred pages with ink to chase you

Only to learn I’d rather break my neck twice than erase you.

It’s you, it’s you, and it always will be.

Yet – faith has nothing to do with destiny

So I pray for somebody else tonight, I send my love to another.

You’ll never know, you’ll never be bothered.

I’m growing tired and my words are slouching.

You didn’t offer comfort, you offered coaching –

And I wish I’d known it wasn’t care, it was business,

It was a contract and I was paying by the minute.

Yet I never burned the ink, I could never make it suffer…

Hope you’re having your own vanity for supper.

-JW

Self-Destruction

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I thought I could freeze the sadness out of me,

I thought I could caffeinate it out or paint it over with glee.

I wished once I stopped shaking, I’d be free

But no amount of distraction could part the stormy sea.

I left the window open until my skin felt static.

I wished you could guide my senses, fussy and erratic,

And I truly hoped the enormous heavy feeling inside would slip under,

Almost like dying peacefully, almost like beating a thunder.

Just like other memories they’d drift away into a dream,

Yet we’re too gentle to open the void, too gentle to ever grow mean.

So I drift off to sleep in the freezing room one more time.

The night pours saltwater in my aching bruises,

It burns like lime.

-JW

#13 The Man In Red

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They keep telling me she’s gone, they keep messing with my head.

They want me to cry but I stay overly rowdy and sinister instead.

The gruesome crew I’ve been hunting with asks for revenge –

We keep discovering clues, we keep losing our leads to the stench.

We hear she’s been seen with a man in red in these streets.

That’s not enough to prosecute but he’ll speak if he bleeds.

Once the clock strikes seven PM we emerge from the masks.

No one in this town crosses our way once it’s finally dusk.

Not many people out at this hour, not many challenge their faith.

The huntress walks the southside alone acting as our bait.

I stay back lying in wait, scanning figures and dancing shadows.

Green-eyes is in her Cadillac, she reads the scene like cheap prose.

The fourth night arrives through coffee, nicotine and energy drinks.

The breezy weather shakes my senses, the hopelessness stings.

Despite the drowsiness, we hear a door swinging open close by.

A muffled sound, a kick, sheen of a car and an audible sigh.

We close in on the target – red coat, a lean figure and slight limp.

Tied up by his side is my sacred lamb, she’s not noticing a thing.

The others beg me to wait but I race forward like a starving beast.

Not a man in red – that goddamn woman I thought was deceased!

Oh Lizzy, Lizzy, how you’ve once again wronged me to death.

You told me I should try harder this time

While losing your breath.

-JW

#11 The Lonely Bones

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Dig, cut, wrap, clean, repeat. Another hole, another dead seed.

We’re hiding truths like normal people do, we plant what we need.

Dig, cut, wrap, clean, repeat. Push harder to cut off the feet.

Bury, smoothen, cover. Another body, another dead lover.

We’re escaping the destiny by hiding all that’s discovered.

Bury, smoothen, cover. We killed you and we killed your brother.

Sharpen, crush, growl some more. Another bruise, some shiny gore.

We’re tied in our count but who’s keeping a score?

Sharpen, crush, growl some more. Go faster to win the war.

Drink, celebrate, rest, cheer. Another pit of lonely bones sealed.

We’re gnarly inside and out, we’re the burnable breed.

Drink, celebrate, rest, cheer. Another pint to the terror we wield.

-JW

#5 The Sacred Lamb

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An expanding knot in my stomach before I even open the front door –

I sense the tension, the held back cries, the hope shattered on our floors.

My weak limbs pull themselves over the doorstep, I’m covered in dirt.

Yesterday three of my closest friends went missing, no one’s yet heard.

I’ve got an alibi three towns south, but did the escapee break the news?

That girl Vicky’s yet to apologize for the friction and pay what’s due.

But the look on my father’s face is more than pity or any other sadness –

Shatters of his very heart lay all over our place, growing in their vastness.

My brother’s there too, he holds me for far too long before I realize

My younger sister’s missing…

No amount of tears can suffice.

Taken, she’s been taken, someone took her. That’s all I really hear.

I hope this someone has the guts to face my painful fury, oh dear.

My feet take me out of the house, all across the putrid hometown.

I’ve heard of this gracious green-eyed beast making her rounds.

The lady’s deadlier than I’ll ever be but what’s the point of my pride?

The plain street I walk down has one eccentric house – I’m down for the ride.

Her seven inch heels click on the surfaces before she lets me in –

Beautiful, eloquent, well-reversed and funny, clearly deadly as sin.

While I don’t mind the corpses in her garden, she doesn’t mind my intrusion.

There’s common sense even between the worst of ghouls with no illusions.

We strike a deal as her fairy-tale clock strikes three in the afternoon.

I promise to give her a hand with her garden,

She promises to become one of my goons.

-JW

#9 The Gathering Of The Ghouls

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My anger pours out of every stitch as I slam my wine glass on the table.

No amount of cursing will scratch the itch firing through my bugged cables.

The wiring’s off, throw out the plans and gather around this failed attempt.

Two people have escaped our rightful anger, nobody else can be exempt.

The huntress puts stainless steel blades in her belt, her caution is paper thin.

The green-eyed bitch of the rural streets perfectly applies her own skin.

I watch in terror as my own image disappears and reappears in reflections.

We’re ready to comb the town and kill everyone daring to walk our direction.

I shrug and rest my palm on the cold gun besides the shattered wine glass.

Can’t hide it as more and more questions near me through the grass.

The bottle’s done and my team of revolting human waste looks right at me.

They know as well as I do – we must kill the witness to finally be happy.

What comes next is pre-written: we slash each other’s throats for hours

Until only one claims this shabby town the three of us have called ours.

As the night swallows our bodies within its charcoal veils, my back straightens.

The one who fled escaped painless grave, but she can’t escape the Satan.

-JW

#3 The Meeting

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She escaped a gruesome death and a poisoning attempt, she escaped.

Somehow despite all the odds and favors I called in, she escaped.

They ushered me away as she jumped right in front of moving cars.

My limp pride carried itself out of the scene under the sparkly stars.

We finished the job but the high of the deed never rushed my system.

She ran away even though she was the least weary and persistent.

The time is not our friend at this point, we cut right through the forest.

Pearly moon is lightning the path, the sight is nothing but modest,

And the peace doesn’t last long, there are steps behind us closing in.

My patience is on the edge, and the edge is far less than paper thin.

I turn and pull out a gun, unable to let another foolish witness slide.

The darkness behind me is blinding, the night tastes like anthracite,

Yet I know a creeper when I hear one so I march towards the sound,

Trigger finger ready to swim in the ecstasy of firing the round.

There’s a blade in my face held by a stranger, my barrel’s aimed at her.

What a standoff – the moon is making the hesitation more severe.

The seconds tick away but we don’t move a muscle in our faces.

How do I tell her “we have a common goal, let’s slow our paces”?

Somehow she reads my distasteful thoughts, the knife is removed.

As she offers me her palm saying:

“No need to harm a fellow hunter, my name’s Ramone.”

-JW

#10 The Witness

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Vicky’s not sure what she heard that foggy autumn evening.

Perhaps it was some ungodly beast howling at the moon,

Perhaps it was her neighbor screaming.

She’s been hyperaware and anxious these past few gloomy days.

Maybe she should just take a pill and drift off to sleep,

But maybe she’s stalling while murder pays?

Vicky’s too insecure to call the police, the cops scare her.

If only she could recall her neighbor’s voice when they met,

If only she could swallow the terror.

She bites her lip as lately no one enters the house next door.

When she gets the time next morning, she’s gonna look for help.

When she gets the time, she’s gonna do more.

Her frail figure turns to switch off the lights but something’s off.

Perhaps there are two glowing eyes peeking in the dark.

Perhaps her brain’s just being odd.

She takes a second before turning off the vintage chandelier.

Once it’s dark, she’ll lock the door and rush to her bed,

Once she’s in bed, there’s nothing to fear.

But Vicky sees the creature approaching the lonely house.

Tragically she’s too frozen to move a single inch,

Tragically it’s a game of cat and mouse.

Vicky’s now sure what she heard that late autumn evening.

Clearly there’s someone peeking in through the window,

Clearly it’s her the creature’s been seeking.

-JW