original writing – Page 108 – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

Seven Armies

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

I remember how I fell for two kind words spoken in a greyish dawn.

No color anywhere but in your lips, you fit in like the blindest pawn.

I guided your intentions downhill with my unfillable desires, seeking redemption.

Not a single hair moved on your chest when I called you my emancipation.

“Playing chess is unfair if your opponent has never learned to hold the rhythm

But you speed up your tango because it takes two to slay the monster with him.”

So I stay in the game I play with myself whenever I lose the colors,

Whenever I choose myself over somebody I suffocated within the covers.

No one will ever learn the truth, I saved the only copy on my conscience.

The devil has a duplicate key but the road to hell is paved with God’s sins

Masked as good intentions.

-JW

My hands tied behind my back, eyes covered with two dark patches.

Sounds are slipping by me in circles, lights are dancing in flashes.

Your hand in mine was the last touch I asked for, what I wanted.

When they took the blindfolds off, I took your red cheeks for granted.

Then they shut the sun off once again and chained me to a neon cross,

Took a flamethrower to the first butterflies, burned them with the fresh moss.

Concrete squares as far as I can sense in my blind disbelief, or further.

My feet bleeding from their coffin nails, but this isn’t a murder.

This is my own mind throwing itself in a free fall, chanting “salvation”.

I’m pulling all the magician’s tricks to get back into narration.

The lock is too heavy and my wrists are too loud to play it by ear.

My hands tied behind my back, eyes covered

But I manage to let out a single tear.

-JW