Tag: love letters

When The Scars Turn Into Wounds Again

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You can smell my blood when I bleed on another operating table.

I feel it – how your eyes change shade, how you call me ungrateful.

As I am allowing another man to cut out my ego like it is a tumor,

You break cathedral glass, killing every spirit who spreads the rumors.

When my blood drips down the drain after yet another procedure,

I know that the humming coming from my anesthetic mind feeds you.

You are locked away behind your stained glass and silver crosses,

But you will survive if you cannot count me as one of your losses.

And when the scars turn into wounds again, I will seek you out.

You will waste your voice on my towering insecurities…

Still, I will enjoy the sound.

-JW

Weightless

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The sparks dance around in your gaze,

Spin through the candle light in all their grace,

And for a moment it’s easy to imagine –

Our souls are something more than voids

Labelled “extremely fragile”.

The lanterns rain down in warm flakes,

Painting the night and its seven remakes.

Whenever you part your lips to speak,

Your voice drips like melted wax,

Deep, enticing and sleek.

The fire inside purifies my misdeeds,

Untangles the stories with missed leads.

A minute more and I’ll be weightless –

Ready to fall without second guessing

Into your oasis.

-JW

Fresh As A Daydream

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It’s one of those days. Someone breaks the news, the news break my bones.

Simple, logical. I’m lost in time and space. I’m freeing the dusty thrones.

Marching around the room aimlessly, memories bursting by my teary eyes,

Light speed is nothing compared to the rush of these thoughts, these lies.

I’m deep in self-pity and misery, angry at the destiny that cost me the sky.

Why do I only believe that there’s a god when I’m high on the cupid’s supply?

Then my song comes on. It crumbles. The reality reappears fresh as a daydream.

I start remembering all the parts you didn’t own, how I was always the A-team.

And the freedom sets me jumping up and down, flying down a flight of stairs.

My father used to say that goodbyes are only bitter if the opponent fought fair.

All life spent running from demons – maybe this is the one I beat facing him directly?

Maybe you were the one wicked curse not going in for the kill,

Maybe you shot to protect me?

-JW

The Darkest Sides of the Moon

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Help me sober up from the puddle of mud I chugged for you.

We’re not operating at the same frequency but it still rings true –

I cannot concentrate when your foolish mind runs around mine,

It sprints in circles, and I’m outrun, acting as if it’s fine.

No one’s giving a helping hand when I’m down and that’s normal.

I begged you not to cut my wrists and you asked to keep it formal.

One inch from the finish line is where I realized my painful mistake –

I didn’t let your cast iron heart drown in sea, I thought it was a fake.

You’ve been exquisite at making the darkest sides of the moon disappear,

And I’ve kept my guard up, kept the bridges burned and coast clear.

Somehow the mud in my stomach is making my heels unsteady,

And maybe we’re not on the same wave-length but to let you go –

I don’t feel ready.

But if you still have some love in stock, I won’t take any.

I’m not your lucky penny.

Not again.

I won’t take any.

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

Taking Cover

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He first saw you the night you turned nineteen,

Bleach blond fantasies, mind desperate, yet keen.

Outskirts of desert formed your idea of love –

Now you have a pocketful with nowhere to shove.

He seemed to forget all the lessons you taught

And maybe too often he called you a fraud.

The years will fly by, the betrayal – remain.

The time will teach you to breathe but not to refrain.

He now has a mansion and a Las Vegas wife,

The most cheerful things that money can buy.

You can’t help but take it in, moment or more,

Before spiraling, throwing out all you deplore.

…He knew you never stood a chance against a goner,

Too lonely to cry for help, too scared to dishonor.

But you didn’t go back to the deserts he mudded

So maybe, just maybe, you’ve always known that’s it better

To run for cover.

-JW

Goodbyes

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Three nights ago your tender skin kissed mine in a violent dance.

Three nights ago I asked you to be mine; I knew it wouldn’t last.

Three nights ago our thoughts were oblivious – so was the romance.

Three nights have gone by but I’m still waiting for the horror show to pass.

I waited on that street corner, wrapped in words of people passing by.

The sun went higher as my hopes got lower. I don’t know what happened next.

Was it the cellphone ringing or was it my gut-wrenching cry?

I don’t recall the order… Just the endless pity calls and the stupid texts.

Three nights from now I will be burying your things in the backyard.

Three nights from now you will be turned into ashes ten miles from where we met.

Three nights from now our song will play on the radio, the one that tore us apart.

Three nights will go by but I won’t be able to forget your eyes

And my regret.

-JW

The Last Moments of Being in Love

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We’re the personification of a thunderstorm after a heated summer day.

Relief is entangled in fresh air. The daisies in my cheeks are longing for rain.

As soon as the first droplets hit the chalky ground, a lightning strikes.

With the weight of my love I push you up a hill, disturbing the butterflies.

We’re the embodiment of warm July evenings turning chilly in the blink of an eye.

Fruit trees are tired from reaching for sun-kisses. The earth is bone dry.

When the thunder rumbles over the lonely fields, you’re carrying me deeper into the twilight zone –

Might as well run through the dark, the rain is so heavy it feels as if we have blinders on.

We’re the epitome of the golden hour paused by some biting wind.

The chimes are rocking back and forth, calling me saint right after I’ve sinned.

Rosy sky trickles down so quick, burns our skins aimlessly, like a pint of lava.

But we’re taken by the touch, we don’t see it.

When they’re asking which vices to erase, we both whisper “nada”.

-JW

Polygraph

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Stay. The polygraph is not painting the picture right.

I want to be in your arms. I’m not afraid of the height.

Crashing towards the asphalt, falling.

Hoping to see you down there. It’s appalling.

The fear is tearing a hole in my being but it’s deceiving.

I can’t leave you alone this evening.

Do you see through me that clearly? Is it a vision?

I’ve taken a feeling and made it into a prison.

The aluminum breathes on my limp body when I’m frightened.

Yet – whenever you call, this cage feels a million pounds lighter.

Stay. The charts are inaccurate. My chained heart made them.

Now it’s free to go, and I’m not asking for it to pay rent.

-JW

My Northern Lights

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I once had a dream where you picked up the signs,

The good, bad and human. The scratches and lines.

The backlash was making my vision blurry –

You never picked up on that, you packed in a hurry.

“Be my love, my northern lights and south pole,”

I spilled without thinking. Words swallowed me whole.

One look over the shoulder and out the door you go.

The room was spinning in light speed, sinking down and low.

Where did you buy the guts to walk away into the thunder?

We were so happy together, except for that one blunder.

Jack White was playing over our tragedy when the alarm went off.

I wake up alone between piles of white sheets with a bottle of Molotov.

The ringing in my ears has passed but my tongue is still dreaming

About your venomous blood, and how I cut it out of you when you’re leaving.

Piece by piece I drink it up from the pale, cold floor. Revenge is pleasantly bitter.

I open my eyes and shake off the nightmare as birds by my window playfully chitter.

-JW