Tag: Other

Revenge

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The word tastes so bittersweet on my tongue,

Looks good on paper in an illuminated room.

I’ve perfected these plans ever since I was young

And you trapped yourself not a day too soon.

What do we have here? A cheap skin sack

Laced with a smidge of my own blood type.

A third rate man with a bow on the back,

Shimmery, yes, but never worth the hype.

So I look under the trembling, leaking lids,

Trying to make sense of the six years of pain.

Everything’s there, mental jitters and skids,

But I know how you love to show fake feign.

I pull your chair closer, I lift up your chin.

Your neck cracks in a despicable way.

The drops of sweat cover your grey skin

Therefore you’re aware I came to play.

But the moment I uncover my angry wrist

To scratch your sinful heart of teak,

The alarm punches my sleep with both fists

And I never get the revenge

I’ve been destined to seek.

-JW

Picking Wildflowers

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There’s a meadow I visit in the loneliest of hours,

A meadow I disguised so it could be just ours.

I walk through it barefoot even when the bees sting,

Even when the peace is over and a blade is the king.

My basket fills with various poisonous flowers.

I pluck them ‘til I run out of my made-up powers.

Then I set the sunny field on fire with my hexes,

Sparks flying violently from my solar plexus.

The leaves burst into diamonds and crescent moons

Highlighting the dimness of these pale noons.

And I waltz back home through the deep forests

Wishing my wildflowers will make a man honest.

There I get my pipettes and spatulas in order –

I bought these after you called me a hoarder.

Drop by drop the deadly mixture comes alive.

My mind is buzzing roaringly like a hive.

And you beg for forgiveness but I can’t hear,

I get high on the sound of your worst fear.

So I hold the goblet and ask you once more:

“Who are you to rob me of all the valour?”

-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

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

Mirrors And Marigolds

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You should regret the day you passed me in the misty noon,

Smelling of innocence, humming calmingly yet out of tune.

The bright naivety evaporated so swiftly and too soon –

Your fist trembled the table, ending our latest honeymoon.

You shouldn’t forget the way you pressed me like a mold

Onto your perfectly orderly headlines, colored in bold.

Your vivid fury lit hellish rage in this body, usually cold,

And you smashed the mirror along with my marigolds.

You must forever carry the weight of my gut-wrenching cries,

The kind that’s only heard when someone sinless dies.

Your explosive temper turned my little funerals into white lies,

And with each piece of me disintegrating

You cut me to size.

-JW

Blood On His Collar

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You wear him around your neck like an ancient amulet,

Such a pretty Judas dressed in the costume of a Capulet.

Your left eye twitches when he mentions the name of another

So you shed one more snake skin and make him your lover.

You tighten the chains, you ensure he’s always close,

And you do the laundry only to smell all his clothes –

Just to obsess over a jacket with a hint of my perfume

So you can christen it with fire while your ego fumes.

You crack the emergency glass a bit more each time,

Smearing blood on his collar, thinking it’s a lipstick of mine.

I’m patient – but the moment your grip becomes a noose,

The sensation of your heartbeats fading will erase our truce.

-JW

Drying Out

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I squeeze my own purple knees until they’re completely dry,

Pull my hair out in clumps, shout but don’t apologize.

Some beg me to be honest, some overlook the sharpened edges

So they don’t have to talk me down from new ledges.

The tired ones point at me wearily but never in rightful anger.

We all have the fear of being greatly mishandled.

Perhaps if I just stop cutting my brain open for another display,

The voices will pack up and call it a day.

Perhaps if I just cut off my hair, I’ll find the strength to grow up

To stop begging hundreds of strangers, “Please show up.”

I tie and tangle these thoughts, I hide them under the sink.

Revisit only when there’s a fresh scar, salmon pink.

But I don’t let go of my own purple knees until I’m so dry

That a scream sounds like the perfect lullaby.

-JW

Undecided

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It’s just another evening of me burying you in bejewelled falsities,

Dragging you down the rockiest paths, dusting you with faux niceties.

My moods swing and dance violently in circles, just like the Saturn rings,

But you’re patiently collecting my poisonous words even if it stings.

Will you stay when I’m needy, will you stay when I forget myself?

I’ve asked my reflection and she’s undecided, begging me to get help.

Yet you keep holding onto the sails when the winds hit our discounted ship,

When the glass flies all over the room, when the rim cuts your lip.

If my mind’s a cave, it’s the darkest one you’ll ever see in real life.

The rocks pierce your skin, you’ve been used to the impact for some time.

You carry me to the bed each evening despite my brain growling loud –

And it’s just another night of my anxieties losing more ground.

-JW