morals – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

The rumors are true, my angels are laying with the demons this evening.

The good, the bad and the morally corrupt thoughts have lost meaning,

And I’m watching the clouds dance with a storm raising in my rib cage –

Will I stay alive if I choose to wipe the record clean and turn the next page?

Or will I repeat hell’s second circle, mixing trust with an appetite for lust?

The eleventh commandment said “In desperate times, do as you must.”

I’m watching the sky unravel the knots in my stomach by keeping a promise

To always keep me safe, as long as the pain in my chest still feels honest.

Red reflections surround my sun while it’s setting for reasons unknown.

Too soon to give up my ironclad ego, too late to go back to my tombstone.

And I let the rumors in, and I stand in front of my angels and demons tonight.

This is it. All the shame weighing me down can either win or make itself light.

She fights back. The sky is gazing back in affright.

-JW

I want to open you up the way you tried to open up my guts.

The way you bled me dry with all the feedbacks and the interrupts

While simultaneously dreaming of me as some cold cuts

On your dinner table – too bad you were always a klutz.

I trusted your instincts the way I never trusted my own.

The only sounds you want to hear from me are quiet groans –

It’s never easy to admit I’m not silly and that I have grown.

Yet the hardest part to bear is that I’ve set silence as your ringtone.

The farthest part from truth is the closest to reality. At least – mostly.

I don’t dream of lives or of deaths because I don’t sleep.

Don’t shush the lion inside before the propane cranes rise above me

And knock the crap out of my conscience. That’s one thing I should keep.

But nothing is sacred when a victimless crime takes its place.

The only rights or wrongs in this scene are how you set the pace.

As the lack of air will cause them some trouble when I puncture,

They will deem myself as a culprit when I’m really just the vulture.

Isn’t it the culture?

I lose structure.

My loose morals do rupture –

But I won’t break unless they capture.

A few good men

And loose pieces in my head.

With all due disrespect,

You die the way you make your bed.

Red. Inbred. Unthread.

Whatever’s your excuse, you’re not mislead.

This is the place you should pray to drop dead

Before fed the sugar of lead.

-JW

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