Tag: mental illness

Through The Breaking Glass

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The mirror image is screaming through the breaking glass,

Asking whether it can leave me

Back in the past.

And I am leaking blue eyeliner tears in my morning coffee

Over yet another honed thought

Trying to cut me.

Who knows why one would choose to live in this mind

Seemingly made and controlled

By an enemy of mine.

Each move I make is a misstep but you already knew this –

It takes one look to notice

My eyes serve Anubis.

But it takes two to carry the weight in my secret pockets

So I cover the mirror again,

I chain and lock it.

My reflection objects less and less each coming evening.

It must have noticed how fast

Our chest is bleeding.

-JW

Stepping Out

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The cheeks blush with crimson rage

As I step out of this rusty cage

To face the music, the false prodigies,

But nobody’s there awaiting me.

The time stands still, it’s almost poetic –

They kept my life highly hectic

As a sorry attempt to confuse me,

To make me less of a human.

They restrained me through battles

So I return to inspect the shackles.

All I see are some black dahlias,

All the betrayals become obvious.

Bars and wires melt at my sight

Deflating this cage left out of light.

My knuckles shake in fatigue

Yet – I close the doors

With a sigh of relief.

-JW

The Judge

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Spent another day in my own basement letting the rain dull my thoughts,

Arranging a courtroom in my unfair mind, bowing to rusty metal gods.

I hear the jury sitting down upstairs, I hear the judge using his new gavel.

My brain’s ushered away to be used as evidence in this case yet to unravel.

The court proceedings fill me with dread, they’re agonizingly numbing.

Yet – my spite’s done with beatings so I choose to abuse thy cunning.

I watch my mouth spew sharp arguments, all based on years of correcting me.

They dig deep even though I promised to never call myself an enemy.

My tongue splatters acidic liquids over the already damaged wallpaper

And the windows shatter in deadly pieces, ready to let me meet my makers.

The body’s giving in to the pressure so I really start wondering – how come?

Why do I keep fixing the floors and ceilings if I still call this palace a slum?

But you know the answer, and so do I.

The judge catches me in a terrible lie

I’m bound to another day down here,

Self-imprisoned, ready to disappear.

-JW

Red

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The Red is piercing my skin and pushing furious tentacles out of my neck.

With every heartbeat the scene turns brighter, I’m caught in a self-made wreck.

The green contact lenses I’m wearing can’t hide the pressure raising within,

I know my eyes glow in sultry carmine, I know I’ve lost my linchpin.

The nails click on surfaces, they dig into walls, they pull out my own hair.

The Red comes in waves and it leaves me crying for a chance to fight fair.

But they own my guts and let me sleep in them, too, just for another payday –

So I snap at myself for reasons unknown, convinced that I’m their prey.

The Red punishes me, it holds my nerve ends under deadly avalanches.

Fixing the damage feels like welding together burned and broken branches.

And soon enough every part of my torso is covered in a crown of flames

So I let the yet untamed Red out to play with its creators,

The instigators of my deep shame.

-JW

Your Own Gravedigger

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The visions don’t stop arriving at the gate,

They fill my sizzling pockets, bate after bate,

Until there’s nothing to offer in exchange.

Then they burn their carriages in flaming rage.

The suspense tightens around my chambers,

Pulse rushes to conclusions, rips the papers.

My spine vibrates from all the vivid feelings

Thrown at my face from this leaking ceiling.

But the cemetery’s watching quietly, wisely,

It’s eyeing my carcass, “Oh, you entice me.”

The black birds chirp thrice before it begins.

My smile gets widened by a sharpened brim.

I keep waking and falling, and waking again.

There are carriages, carnages and a single amen.

The thoughts keep digging me an early grave,

And when engraving the headstone,

I hear them spelling my name.

-JW

My Bastille

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I try hard to hold my past still

But it’s leaking putrid pastels.

Is there a point to hold on

To this forgotten echelon?

My legs keep being restless,

I can even taste the stress.

Is it my wishful thinking

Or can I sleep while blinking?

Or maybe we just pretend

That burning out is not a trend?

I try to tie the blasts in twill,

They try to forge my last will.

And I wonder – how come

I must always please the scum?

They never have to fix the stencil

If we agree to stand still.

But my feet keep running cold

While they trade our heat for gold.

So I spit out the foul pastil

And let my ego storm the Bastille.

-JW

Stopping The Time Machine

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And one day I won’t be this bitter,

My tongue won’t need a babysitter.

And one day I’ll learn to take a “no” –

Perhaps tomorrow,

Not today though.

One year the revenge will even out,

My hands won’t shake, lips won’t pout.

Maybe even this week I’ll be fine –

But not right now

While I’m still vile.

I promise – one morning it’ll stop.

There won’t be any tears to mop.

And one morning I’ll just let it go –

The time will finally

Take it slow.

-JW

Capitulare

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She’s at the piano, playing her fingertips numb and soul sore.

Tinsel in her hair, glitter on the wrists, her childish mind at war.

The party around her roars like gunfire, she almost disappears,

Blends into the background hiding behind her faceless peers.

She’s on her tenth cigarette even though she quit a long time ago.

Whisky in her system, fuel in her one-track mind ready to blow.

No sadness, no regret, just a ton of anger in a short linen dress –

But don’t lose a finger comforting her, she’ll never confess.

She’s rearranging the thoughts but coming to the same conclusion.

The shivers slide down her spine, hurting like a contusion.

“What’s promised, must be fulfilled,” she silently whimpers

And tries to ignore her own violently shaking fingers.

She’s on the balcony unamused, not even slightly entertained.

The man by the bar represents all her guilt doused in heated shame.

The bottles stacked on expensive tables shatter at her sight.

Her lungs collapse under the relief of crashing into the dolomite.

(The people sigh as he winces:

“She wasn’t in her right mind.”)

-JW

Ultimatus

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Every portrait on the wall has wandering eyes,

Every time I look at the phone you have me paranoid

But I don’t take my own advice.

There’s no privacy in love and no respect in control.

I might act like you’re fooling me greatly

But your lies are barely staying afloat.

So I confess to you all my deadliest urges

And you say you hope I would just get it over with,

Not taming the darkness that emerges.

You keep pushing me further, calling me distasteful.

“If you ever leave, I’ll know I was right,

You were never faithful.”

Words can build character, they can burn down cities,

And after months of hearing you on the loop

My anger turns into pity.

Every photo on the wall has my lifeless eyes,

Every time I look at you, the poison sinks in more

Until all self-preservation is paralyzed.

-JW

Momentum: Thoughts From The Most Anxious Of Times

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Pretty please, don’t ever lower you shiny shields.

All your yesterdays will burn your pride in the fields,

They’ll poke your intestines open and cheer,

Even colour their cheeks with bloody smears.

Don’t fall for whatever they’re selling today.

You always have a friend in your own dismay.

For you it’s not really that much of a momentum –

They’re using your story only as an addendum.

Dearest, listen, trust those who constantly crave

And abuse the permissions that their own god gave.

Turn a cold shoulder to those seeking warmth,

Call it “unintended distance” instead of direct harm.

-JW