Tag: mental health

Shadow Play

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“I would die for you” is an easy thing to say

When you lose the will to do so every other day

Because instead of pessimism you want your life to be a cabaret.

Anyway…

The other morning my brother claimed there’s no reason to pray.

“Skip it. Douse the guilt at the bottom of another ashtray.”

It blew my mind back then. But the world spins too fast

And now I may.

Am I waiting for permission? Am I begging for a leeway?

People will grieve someone who’s seeing red

But won’t pity anyone who recognizes the grey.

I would still die for a sinner, but which one of us is it?

Difficult to say.

Let’s pretend nothing was said during this shadow play.

-JW

Writer’s Battle Cry

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I cannot fall asleep before I’ve created another one of these part-time sentence sketches.

The grey clouds are forming a cradle but I refuse to enter. Too far from static and background retches.

Some acidic light spills on my spine, it makes me live through it all again, pulsating,

But it barely rings a bell anymore. I tied a rock to this wraith and sunk it by tirelessly creating.

I cannot sleep before I know that I’ve saved another day by being drained, not going down the drain,

And if you asked five years ago, I would’ve declared this sanctuary insane,

Maybe changed my name to Jane.

So here I stand, alone in the dust bowl of traumas that made me, of black bat licorice spat in my direction,

Cascading through shallow storms, calming my insomniac mind with bad rhymes, trusting your discretion.

-JW

The Two Sided Mirror

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Is there a point to this inner monologue anymore?

We’ve lost the sight of the shore, leftover memories spilled on the floor.

So hang me from another abandoned telegraph-pole –

This prolonged, unrequited speech is sultry, yet its plot has a hole,

A breakage as deep as my moon-drenched sentiments, or deeper.

No matter how hard I’m trying to exit this conversation, the catwalk gets steeper.

The sun has damaged my jet black self-pity, turned it dark blue,

And the wire I’m trying to cut has outgrown my wits, erased the last clues.

But maybe I’m not free to escape this two sided mirror image at all?

United with ones and zeros I stand, united I fall –

To pieces, like a high-end chandelier crashing on a white marble floor.

Is there a point to anything but this inner monologue anymore?!

Because they have taken away the door.

I have taken away the door.

–JW

The Revelation

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It feels irrelevant to feel the rut I’m feeling, but it’s still true –

My mind is rumbling, I can’t hear the chorus through the blues.

The fences are getting higher and I don’t want to manage,

And every day I don’t, my brain gets twice the damage.

I didn’t know you were listening to my story all along.

To you it might seem that I’m visionless or not that strong.

To you the picture has been painted through a distorting mirror.

But I don’t care –

Come, take in my suffering from the cuts, almost like a killer.

Then he whispers:

“Step away from the catastrophe for a second, let me ground it.

I know that the truths you’ve been hearing sound astounding,

And somehow you keep on beating the current as if it’s your cure –

But there comes a time to realize that you will not be judged

By the pain you endure.”

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part V

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Healing

We’re building a corporation from scratch – some luck and eighty-seven guns.

I’m calling you my co-conspirator when they find out so you don’t even run.

Zero factories around the globe, no employees good enough to hire –

Yet I’m convinced you’re the one ruining this, you started the tax haven fire.

The upholstery business is a nice shell for your mother’s inaudible cries.

It must’ve been Linklater who taught you how to be fine when the time flies.

My feet are sore from carrying the boxes of liquid guilt into the basement –

But I don’t mind, the art you keep and treasure was begging for defacement.

Now the flames are eating up the framework of the company without any shame.

Perhaps the next business we build will take less gasoline to stay in the game.

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part III

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Trauma

How do you embrace the darkness, the fog lingering in your thoughts?

The guides have dropped dead and my mind is haunted, covered in moths,

So I’m praying to hills, I want to get past this mentor-less journey alive

But the wheels are turning to the uncharted territory, pulsating cyanide.

How to forget the grave they made me dig for myself, scarring me to agony?!

Yet – the actions are excusable because only the young and terrified will write a symphony,

A melody submissive enough for their listening pleasure, a hymn for the masses.

My shoulders still ache but I never sung the lullaby,

The one veiling plastic and hourglasses.

And how do you know there’s another side to the endless, smoke filled path I’m balking?

I’ve been penniless and dull, however, never have I felt like sleepwalking.

The dust is sitting still in the unforeseeable, contaminated air I’m chasing.

I know the fog is a part of the ride, perhaps – even the seatbelt, but really…

How do I embrace it when it’s easier to forever erase it?

-JW

August Days

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Finger painting my own reflection, deflecting.

A voice is calling me but I find it vexing.

Palms covered in sparkles as temperature raises.

I’ve survived burns, I’ve survived blazes

But somehow this moment pierces my skin.

Do I fit the box that they put me in?

Colors on colors pour down my neck, down my back.

When I turn to look, it’s once again painted black.

Cryptic signs appear in the mirrors as I lay dying…

I’ll never get the picture just right, there’s no denying.

–JW

No Pressure

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I must be missing the substance of all your allegories.

The sentences peel my skin with disgust when they say:

“You’re a lady, you should have some better worries.”

“Are you dating and are you planning a kid, tell me!”

They need to hear my convenient answers.

But everything I want is for my mind to be handled safely.

Crawled out of the hold of anxiety, beat the monster in the mirror,

For a year and a half I’ve been able to breathe without pain

But the pressure is quietly kicking in, it’s a silent killer.

Why can’t I simply be undecided and live one day at the time?

Why can’t I have the choice and the cash,

why can’t it all be mine?

Why is my every step analyzed as if it’s colored in lime?

-JW

Antidote To Sentiment

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It is a never ending task to bring together the two coasts of the sea.

The reddest of reds will fill the shores to conjure, to fulfill the prophecy.

Three winters ago the waters froze so deep it felt as if we’ve never seen spring.

Three winters ago I was a bird with an injured wing. All I could do was sing.

But the waves kept crashing on my knees, they were begging me to stay.

Two coasts of the sea sunk more and more into the foolishness of dismay.

Picking one was the destiny, staying on both was a suicide, by hanging.

The antidote to my own sentiment is buried under the corpses I left without thanking.

-JK

Bittersweet Melody

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How do you live being soft-spoken? No shrieking, no debilitating insomnia or an axe in your chest?

How do you go on another day not feeling broken? Do you wake up after good 8 hours more stitched together than the rest?

It’s not a walk in the park to explain how my anxieties and other ticks make a day worse by the second.

Not to brag, but I want to leave my mark: crawling to every finish line with anxiety on my neck,

Yet coming in second.

The moment someone realizes I’m not kidding when I say I’m depressed is a bittersweet melody to my ears –

What a time to be alive, we’ve progressed. What a time to be alive… Now they know my worst fears.

Hope they ignore the tears. And open tears.

-JW