Tag: mental health

Almost Freezing

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Killing my mind every evening, holding it back from the green light.

The current hits it with pleading but I won’t budge or put up a fight.

My fists are by my side if I ever need a savior for my tongue’s messes.

While everyone’s running in circles, the generals are launching stresses.

It’s too risky to reach my arm out for that green flame in these times.

But what if I don’t and it’s over, there’s no substance in between these lines?

Ah! The sweat dripping down my back are almost freezing as I plan the escape.

Three years later I’ll either be dead or in a desperate need of the brakes.

Give me a break. Put a pause on this and rewind in a more peaceful decade.

Decadence is slipping through their fists but the damages are prepaid.

So I keep on slaughtering my brain at every crooked turn, at every twist.

To cut these demons out of my dysmorphic body I might need an oculist.

-JW

Rules Of Fleeing The Burning City

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You can’t rely on this path dug by rebels like me.

It’s been crossed and dulled, impossible to see.

Can’t ride, can’t crawl through it in your Ante attire.

You won’t find a patsy to help you escape this fire.

Neon boneyards flaming in distance, viva Las Vegas!

Leave! Take all you can carry, call a powerful magus.

Hide with someone you trust in the city of betrayed

And hope this isn’t a night that you get played.

Cut all contacts or sweep them under the rug.

Don’t tell them what’s going on, don’t give a hug.

You can only swear on words of a rebel, hold on tightly.

Move up to the east, and keep moving there nightly.

Once the neon pollution leaves your left lung, sleep in.

The river is poisoned, the hills can always steepen.

As the air of the burning city flees your thirsty lips,

You’ll look back just in time to see how it still grips.

Staring back at you with its promise and realization –

Nothing incinerated, your mind was the ruination.

Those city towers were toying with your psyche.

You can’t rely on this path dug by rebels like me.

-JW

Covering The Petals

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Running for your life is not good enough, go faster, over the speed limit.

Ruining everything sacred in this looped fantasy of yours taught me to skim it

But never showed me how to sit through a storm with my blinders shut.

Your neck twisting around mine, pulling away, and we’re stuck in this rut.

“Life has no meaning,” they say, “if you waste it trusting your own guts and bones.”

“It has no meaning,” they repeat, “if you share love through cables and telephones.”

But it’s not easy to follow someone playing god with menacing conviction.

It’s hard to walk down the road of not being able to tell apart fact from fiction.

I keep bleeding on the razor’s edge, fingers all cut up from pretending I’m fine.

I leap forward and rock back, knowing too well that they’re approaching from behind.

But the mountains echo my pleas for safe escape and I see dew covering the petals.

The melody goes silent as I escape this dead-end of dead eyed people

Giving souls out as rentals.

-JW

Speaking in Tongues

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Don’t waste my time, I know how to do it on my own.

The tears dry by turning to ice while they call me Joan.

I might be a heroine but not yet a saint, don’t lean on this loan.

Sky stinks of pastels and my soul evaporates into acetone.

Birds outside of my window are shooting for the pale moon.

Hours passing by, promising that I can leave this place soon.

The destiny is dragging out my breaths to the ancient runes.

I don’t mind theatrics but this murder feels like a honeymoon.

The further down the road, the more absurd it all becomes.

So much time to spend, yet we have to follow the beat of the drums?

Let me scream into the world’s pillow while everyone hums.

So much time to waste, so many lively lungs but it seems –

No one is noticing the swords and the guns.

Am I speaking in tongues?

-JW

Tightly Sealed Freedom

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The three musketeers of the end of all things are coming to our town.

The fake sun is trembling and neon is shining through a worn-out frown.

Apathetic noon showers my neck with kisses it doesn’t really mean

And I can’t remember how I lost my lustful self and turned into a fiend.

The target on my back is turning redder each day, getting lighter by minute.

Once it gets as big as the Ritz, you’ll see how Fitzgerald is going to spin it.

I embrace the last days of this tightly sealed freedom with the force of a madman.

Not packing much for the departure as you can never be ready for badlands.

Scoria and erosion reaching for my pound of flesh, is resisting even an option?

I’m dreaming about running but doom might be the answer for this corruption.

“No, don’t listen,” I hear someone whimpering right beneath my bleeding helix.

The three musketeers are approaching in distance and I sigh.

“Let’s give this place another shot but not lend it any credence.”

-JW

Last Hope

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(dedicated to my past anxiety)

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You’re my favorite city light, my favorite paper cut.

For my every “if”, you have a concerned “but…”

And I don’t adore you that much when you cut my wings –

Yet you make my loneliness feel like gatherings.

(Maybe we weren’t the kings?)

Where did the time go while I stood perfectly still?

How come all the pages were burned in the paper mill?

You might not realize but it hurts – writing this verse,

Shouting at my future sliding before me in reverse.

(I must revenge the curse.)

Don’t mind me being foolish over another day.

My nerves are made of glass, my heart – of clay.

Correct me if I’m slurring through all the skull fractures,

I’m just learning this feeling was manufactured.

(Kill if ever captured.)

You’re my city of sin, my ghost town of innocence.

Every hope you mask with a crooked camera lens,

Shoot me twice in the chest, then wave the white flag.

The past seems fake, echoes are starting to lag.

(Fire, take out that drag.)

-JW

Dusty Gravestones

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I’m also refusing your lesson and vivid banner calling me to safety.

No harm done, take it easy, but how do you cope with days so hazy?

Don’t be fooled, no one should come down the path I’m pawing

But of all the souls out there, mine is the least deserving of saving.

When your reputation has nowhere higher to go, please take a seat.

You can’t carry the pain of someone crushed by the fangs of defeat,

You can’t ask a kid to outrun the future that’s barely promised

And I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just asking for you to be honest.

When there’s nothing to teach, how can you reach for the ceiling?

When the world is crumbling in full force, how is it healing –

To mention that there are better days ahead,

And our way is for the dead…

Is it really true that graveyards call us only when the neon needs to be fed?

I don’t think so, however, there is a revolution of hope to be lead.

Let’s promise ourselves another day at a time, despite all that’s been said.

For the pursuit of true empathy, I will be willing to lay my head.

-JW

Cain

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Being at ease is not easy when the mind is buzzing louder than the latest news.

It’s like living with a python, fearing constriction, then you find a bite and a bruise.

Has it been venomous all along? Was I running the wrong way for years?

Should I just feed it with the last of my pride and some one night volunteers?

No matter how much I nourish the beast, it comes back hungrier; I get paranoid.

Why is it making me go bankrupt, does it not know – nothing will fill the void?

Truth be told – nothing fills me up either so maybe she’s a worthy enemy after all?

God was reciting Corinthians but I was fortunate enough to miss that disrupted call.

Yes, you could say I’m lacking faith, playing with fiery positions keeps me at bay –

But don’t you be offended, at the end of the day I order this chaos and I pay.

And please avoid being gracious about my struggles to pay a rent for this brain…

With the corner of my eye I see shop windows reflecting the shadows of Cain.

-JW

Another Disaster in Time

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I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and coming to terms with the fact

That the one bullet I cannot escape is being true to myself.

No, I’m not an act.

Many say I lack vision, others claim I come off as abrasive, lacking basic tact,

But who really hears their whispers when life and I, we signed this secret pact.

It was a summer day and my chest was burning – it was bursting lies, spitting pain:

I’m lying on the floor, counting voices, waiting for someone else to take the blame.

My hand reaches for the last sip of poisoned wine.

Someone pulls the emergency brakes on the train.

I sit up, wide-eyed in disbelief and I swear – someone muttered my name.

Knowing everything I’ve learned now I’d say it was my consciousness calling me home.

Yet – that feeling wasn’t present, it felt like my future has dialed the crisis phone.

It struck me that as long as I got myself in this fidgety world, I’m not completely unknown.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and how without it you’re utterly alone.

An unmarked graveyard representing another disaster in time,

And, not to sound cynical, nothing’s blanker than a penniless crime.

So I’m pulling it all together, drawing a full circle – not betting a dime.

I must win the loyalty back. Be it a silent prayer or a pantomime.

-JW

Doubting // To Another Day

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This story is only partly true so you will have to imagine the rest.

The re-teller never existed. To you she might seem real…

Or was it all a test?

No, no, I’m quite sure that the narrative is truer than the actual story

And the voice sounds realistic but also too arrogant.

(Has she ever muttered “sorry”?)

To anyone reading this – please don’t jump to conclusions harshly.

If you say that I’m to blame, I will accept it.

At least, partly.

So enjoy the show and take the orchestra home if you can’t sit through.

Because the drums and the violins might hit some chords

Resonating with you,

Too.

***

My head has been bed bound for a decade and counting.

Nothing grows in a ceaseless fire,

It’s a storm of blips. It’s a form of drowning.

The clouds move unsurely through the stickiest nectar.

I imagine this is what death feels like

Because anxiety is my faithful specter.

My limbs are tranquil while the chest goes full Urie

And the focus is stolen from me,

The emptiness is filled with fury.

What about the jury?

Are they still out and about, ignoring the verdict they are going to serve me?

I look around. “In the time of need did they all desert me?”

Helplessness locks my senses, the room turns black. I bow to the unimaginable.

Not the first time someone called my pain unfashionable,

Even easily eradicable.

Yes, my head has been bed bound for a decade and counting.

And yes, I can take another day of drowning.

I can take another head recounting.

But please take away all the shouting.

You’re not understanding what you are doubting –

And I’m simply looking for mounting,

For someone who doesn’t suffocate by shrouding.

-JW