Tag: fiction

A Young King

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Done hyperventilating over long-dead flowers,

Done praying for lost people in the darkest of hours.

My quill is sharp yet my words sound meek.

The daylight is a river, my reality is a creek.

One sneaker in mud, one step closer to my roots.

My blood is merciless, do not expect any fruits.

But I still sneak out in the cold, harmful dawn.

Done panicking over cruel butlers and pawns.

I do not feel like a young king climbing the fences,

I do not feel home while gathering expenses.

My words are cutting yet my reasons are too weak.

The daylight is a river, my reality is a creek.

-JW

Sleepless Desires

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Hot pink heels and a thermostat heart that guesses what she wants.

She’s into fuzzy things, casual disregard and nonchalance.

The car she drives is just as worn out as her second guesses.

You couldn’t tell her daughter is twenty by the way she dresses.

But she knows that nobody’s calling, she’s fully aware.

They grin at her sun-damaged skin and platinum blond hair.

The streets are calling her name and her sleepless desires.

Talk is cheap and her empathy isn’t for hire.

Yet she extends her palm towards the sun setting over city lights

As she takes a stranger’s hand disappearing into the neon night.

-JW

Status And Other Vices

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It always starts with one too many in candle-lit boudoirs.

His friends call him pleasant but they don’t know

What he does in the dark.

There’s always someone just right, someone too easy

So he judges everyone’s vices with vivid lust, thinking:

“I hope that she sees me.”

His shirt is fitted almost far too well, do you even care?

He looks down on those who don’t see his status,

He hates those who stare.

It usually ends with him smiling ever so faintly in the mirror.

The bathroom stinks, the sink is stained.

Nobody’s there when lights grow dimmer.

-JW

November

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Photo by Karol Wiśniewski from Pexels

You took my secrets against my best wishes,

You took them down the drain with you

Mixing my soul with dirty dishes.

I tied up the red flags, collected them all –

What a lovely sight, isn’t it?

Watching them finally fall.

You made a joke out of my darkest times

But I could never joke about you

Or your petty crimes.

And I tried torturing you the same but you yelled,

You claimed that you’re in pain

When it was my neck you held.

The cigarette smoke dissolves over your pity

As you take one last cynical look

At me leaving this sunken city.

-JW

August

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Your breath smells like salty sea, your skin – like cotton candy.

I took another lover before you cried over your first brandy.

A glass of liquor won’t seal the envelope filled with poor choices

And magic tingles my bones when you think you know

Where your voice is.

Your nose is filled with dust, your hair – entangled with seaweed.

I loved another man before you managed a single misdeed.

But that’s what you’re good at, being an act that no one defies,

Yet – we weren’t even done with our first kiss that night

When I wrote our goodbyes.

Your chin is split wide open, your ears are bleeding in waves.

I’m only imagining what it would feel to re-dig my graves.

But I hope that you’re sleeping tight and not overthinking.

Almost eight years have passed and I still can’t face it

Without crashing and sinking.

-JW

June

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Photo by Reynaldo #brigworkz Brigantty from Pexels

In the palest spring sunsets you made into your own.

I was slowly shifting, accepting your debts and loans.

The faster time passed us, the more I trembled.

The weakness I felt took me back to the dark,

To the last December.

You told me I’m the one, yet – I was never someone,

Like an accessory you flashed me back at the sun.

Memory is a fragile thing, it gets lost and misguided.

Your screams became dents in my tender skull

But I tried to hide it.

And the summer came, sun still set over the sea

Where I promised I’d stay if you weren’t hurting me.

The time slowed down, it left my mind rushing.

It ran faster than my tears on the silver screen.

As I watched the sun rusting.

-JW

April

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The air sticks its hand out to grab both my lungs

But I flinch and hide them in meadows and trunks.

The petals surround me in a warm moon ritual

Yet I put my head down, escaping the ethereal.

Heaven’s gate in front of me but I can’t reach it.

My fantasy runs circles, please don’t you feed it.

Cherry blossoms form a swarm of soft dewy rays.

I look down and close my eyes through the haze.

My palms lift towards the unforgiving blues,

I hold my weapons near, trigger finger on the fuse.

Leaves shuffle all around, the scent lifts up my feet.

I collapse over the branches accepting the defeat.

-JW

February

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The cold stings my bare limbs, it punches my skin.

The sky is made from plastic, moon is made out of tin.

No matter how much I’m freezing, I still carry on.

If I surrender, my sanity’s going to be looked upon.

My left leg stuck in a cruel limbo, it spins violently.

Right cheek burning bright red, wailing like a banshee.

How can I ever leave this place, who would even dare?

I came to terms with the freezing weather and the stares.

But I still hear a voice, it’s trying to grab my attention.

It warms my numb fingers and clears the suspension.

I reach out to it once in a while, it swallows me slowly.

The roofs of the city reflect my shadow collapsing,

Yelling that thee must bow before me.

-JW

December

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Nothing but snow and cigarette smoke as far as I can see.

Ice crunching under the weight of my feet trying to flee.

My gloves dirty, covered in ash and low-end mascara tears.

Nothing but the snow, nothing but a hope way too sheer.

The trees growl under the weight of the wind, I stand back.

It shakes the scenery, it crumbles and covers the tracks.

The cold pinches my nose but I’m far too gone to feel it,

There’s a beast inside of my throat, it guides my feelings.

Grey clouds peak through the branches, they hide the sun.

My mouth burns in flames bright yellow, my skin’s overdone.

I see flowers peeking through the moss, touching my shoes –

My body collapses in the wintery fields, it can’t take the abuse.

-JW

Part IV: After the heist

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We’re hiding in sketchy houses, digging through rusty mailboxes,

Burning bonfires indoors and only surviving through some proxies.

Her hair on my stomach, she’s counting what we’ve finally earned.

I’m watching with a knot in my stomach, I’m seeing she’s not concerned.

My fingertips pulsate on the skin of my lover, I’m burning alive.

An adrenaline rush captures me, take a knee or a shameful nosedive.

The roof of this shack we’re living in leans on my last sane bone,

The fridge is still empty, even after we’ve gotten enough for the crown.

But the green hair is gone, so are the goons,

Only a brown-haired girl in front of me,

A gun encrusted with runes.

And she wants the riches, not the love I offered.

I reach for the door leading to the river.

The bullet sprints as I topple.

-JW