Tag: mania

Frostbite

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Stuck between a rut and a manic firework show pouring sparkles in the cuts.

Luck always outruns the ones who pretend that no gates are constantly shut.

Rude thoughts intrude my white blood cells, whispering how I’m a prude.

Crude laces and nude portraits covered in mud spin around me, reckless and lewd.

Lost, my hearts crossed in this sin city of Sue and sewers covered in rust.

Lust wraps the frost but I still feel pity that’s due. Eyes grow distant and crossed.

Dark lands leave marks on my shoulders while mirages sing to me through an arc.

Hark! The fire sparks, cold and ruts are camouflages of anchors dragging my soul

As a barque.

-JW

Seven Armies

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Jumping off the high horse with my name carved in its sides,

Wondering about what caused world’s greatest wars and suicides.

My mania is pouring out the chalices, strangling the victors.

Seven armies couldn’t hold it if the rules were any stricter.

Fields yield silently before me as I stab their crooked flesh.

What a pretty picture this is – slay with fear all dressed in mesh.

Not a single soul in sight to test my bravery and titles.

Rebels staying by my side, resting guns on red hot rifles.

Doctors tiptoeing around me with their pills and perfect crimes –

As they throw their words against me, I throw spite in twisted chimes.

Drums of Ante sing in distance but I kneel and grab the dust.

I cut open all my scabs to dip my ego in green lust.

-JW

N

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You’re an oil painting left in a shed to decompose,

The loneliness eating up the corners, pulling at your clothes.

You’re a sunset too bright to photograph for a fool –

The lizards are taking it in but you’re too precious to ridicule.

Your hair is grayer than foggy graves, flowing aimlessly.

Sentiment is a booked club, when I try to check in – no vacancy.

Your suit fits you well but so does the box cutter…

When you hear my knock, you might want to declutter.

Can you feel me entering, can you hear me tripping on steps?

Are you running or this is one of those mornings

Where you so tragically overslept?

-JW

Bitter

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Here’s a bitter pill to swallow: they don’t need me if I don’t show them sympathy first.

They’re doing great. Everything’s lovely. The moment it’s not, they drink up my empathies with a godless thirst.

Too bad I’ve been too blinded by our history, reflecting into the unknown. I missed the warning signs.

I should’ve never taken up another beggar after one already tore my core into a painting of alarming sights.

But I’m not motivated by the anger. I’m writing this because no one’s here on these dawning nights.

It all passes once the sun starts creeping up the horizon, yet the bitterness is not erased by these morning lights.

I’m mourning our fights.

The thought of never seeing them again fills me with ease so maybe I should keep my heart locked away?

In the cupboard, next to a broken glass and shivering illusions of safety, shining brighter than the signs of Broadway…

Maybe I should built a festival out of this little hideaway,

Just for myself.

But I’d rather do it like Hemingway.

Here’s a bitter pill to swallow: they would need me more if they could add me on their resume.

-JW

When They Dragged You Away…

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I cannot write a decent goddamn sentence when you’re not close.

The words just don’t come out right when I can’t rip off your clothes

And strangle your body until everything’s written about, everything’s touched.

I was burning alive when they dragged you away but the people simply watched.

Can’t pull myself together for another second. I need to hear you think.

Never been able to look into somebody’s soul, but I do see yours – unless you blink

And tear it all up with not so loving notes on how I’m not rational. Again.

When they dragged you away, a part of me whispered: “Amen.”

But when it comes to obvious things and stating the facts, it’s simple –

Have loved you since the day you smiled at me one morning. Threw away my wimple.

It sounds dumb, let’s not pretend I ever sound wise speaking of you,

Yet – if I never wrote about your eyes, none of my writing would be true

As each time I sit down to create a tiny graveyard made up from words,

My chest aches. “Write “I love you” a hundred times. Until it no longer hurts.”

-JW

A Maniac’s Love Letter

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How come – it’s another day in the fairytale land with so little joy?

You can’t buy the rights to my heart but you can always deploy,

You can always plan so that I don’t escape, yet I don’t really enjoy.

The glory might be the prize but his eyes, they don’t lie,

Chico, they’re my favorite decoy.

I’ve never asked for much when it comes to love, and I swear –

A little sense was all I wanted. Not another mask to wear.

My nerves are built of paper, they burn and they tear.

Not so sure about the others, but if it all breaks loose –

You’re the one I’m gonna spare.

The whites of your eyes look ugly when you roll them, blaring.

You launch them at me like bloodhounds. I think about disappearing

As my last act in this unrequited game. Then I recall us daring

To never leave a fib behind – and it would’ve worked if you weren’t

That passive about baring.

I’m angry. I followed your scent through the mud and got stuck

In this frozen forest with no way out. No matches. I’m out of luck.

But life goes on for you. And it won’t be you, selling tears for a buck,

Desperately waving the white flag and saving for flares to cope

With another day that will suck

In the fairytale land.

How could I dream so grand?

Now my mouth is full of sand

And I’m begging you to take me home

To the places I do understand.

-JW