Tag: Other

Dimmed

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The end of this chapter is closer than you would think.

All good things fall apart, all dark things dissolve,

Glimmers kill in a blink.

Light is locked inside of your neck, just let it slip out,

Let it take over the crevices of your house,

Take over the town.

Each shadowy corner is haunted hence I fail to see

What do you have to lose if you free it?

Is it not the fantasy?

Yet – you hold back the rays with your own bullet holes.

You outrun the sun with sawed off guns

To escape getting close.

But the blood cannot block out the truth much longer

So either dim the lights forever

Or die already a goner.

-JW

Shiny Enough

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Photo by Johannes Rapprich from Pexels

Sore gashes stitching themselves together

Under full moon, through freezing weather.

Some still fear the threads and needles

So they fall on the ground,

Pretending they’re feeble.

Shoes glued to the asphalt, nowhere to go,

Each wrongful movement makes you glow

And once you’re shiny enough to see

They’ll include you

In the next killing spree.

Silver liquids poured into scarlet eyes

Until the palest lips loudly apologize.

But those who don’t seem to ever learn

End up protesting

In an unlocatable urn.

-JW

The City Calls

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The walls within this sickly concrete sea monster always look too dull,

The faces are greyer than October sky, barely sticking to their skulls.

I bury all clues and shotguns where I know I’d never step my foot again

And blend in with the walls, breathing in fumes and fresh propane.

The lines are long but I’m used to waiting for an uneventful death.

Each humanoid figure around is the same – everything but a real threat.

We submissively march to the music and lower our eyes when it stops.

Some ashy buildings appear on the horizon just as my stomach drops.

I can sense the electric nervousness strings overtaking the numb crowd.

This is the moment we could run for cover – only if we were allowed.

Instead we brace for impact as cement fills the streets, we are tongue tied.

We’ve been taught since a very young age:

When the city calls, you must always be ready to die.

-JW

Little Fictions

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Photo by Kristina Paukshtite from Pexels

The rosewood door to your dream house still haunts me while I sleep.

I wanted to walk the highroad but you dragged me into the deep.

Withheld secrets spilled on the floor, sour air between our bodies

As you ask me to close the door from the other side

And find some better hobbies.

The keys to my old apartment hide in your closet with all the “sorries”.

I spend my weekends cutting little fictions out of our happiest stories.

There’s no way we got that far up the mountain just to die on a hill,

No way a pile of ash destroyed the paper palaces

The strongest fires couldn’t kill.

Now whenever I drive by your house, it doesn’t remind me of home.

You can change the paintings and curtains, but you cannot rebuild Rome.

Every new morning comes with another ounce of sharpened lucidity,

And I hope it cuts my pride open just enough

To defy your gravity.

-JW

Weightless

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The sparks dance around in your gaze,

Spin through the candle light in all their grace,

And for a moment it’s easy to imagine –

Our souls are something more than voids

Labelled “extremely fragile”.

The lanterns rain down in warm flakes,

Painting the night and its seven remakes.

Whenever you part your lips to speak,

Your voice drips like melted wax,

Deep, enticing and sleek.

The fire inside purifies my misdeeds,

Untangles the stories with missed leads.

A minute more and I’ll be weightless –

Ready to fall without second guessing

Into your oasis.

-JW

Not A Negotiation

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It is time to put down the archaic tools, stop writing the story on a typewriter.

Crisp electric impulses pick up my hands, make the limp thoughts a ton lighter.

The system wants to eat too, it craves to lose my awards in a tiresome shuffle

But the blossoms on my shoulders cannot wait to push you towards a new scuffle.

You beg of me to quit spilling the truths over newspapers you used to own.

The ground shakes more and more as others realize – the cover is fully blown.

Some shredded pages mix with the February snow, what an idyllic scenery.

While you burn the belongings I left behind,

The smoke lingers over all your thievery.

-JW

Careful What You Swear By

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If you promise a pound of flesh, you must deliver.

If you promise two, you must also give away the liver.

Even when you do not recall a blood oath made,

You must pull yourself into pieces

In the spirit of fair trade.

When the devil comes to collect your debts again,

Tell it to go and bleed dry your best friends instead.

To survive, you must really focus on existing

And you cannot do that with pride

Or morals in your system.

After all that has been done, you should remember –

One day you will not be able to blame your bad temper

For wilfully slipping deeper into the machine.

But you cannot admit it

So you swear by the silver screen.

-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

Framing Her Name

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She shaves her head and clips off her wings,

Readies her limbs, sells all ruby rings.

The embroidered clothes fall into flames.

“I won’t be needing gowns for dames.”

There’s a spot between the nearby roofs

Where her heavy head goes hunting spooks.

But tonight the chest fills up with dread,

The body seems to be glued to the bed

And iron chains are holding down her name

So it can’t be lifted and put in a frame.

“No change is easy, let the fire pass through.”

She sinks into the pillows,

Lets her spirit throw a coup.

-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