Tag: Other

Between The Pileus Clouds Of Her Hometown

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Her auburn hair falls into my eyes, gets tangled up with my lashes –

But only in my sleep, only when I patch up the crimson slashes.

Her curls lay on the pillows and flow on the perfectly white duvet,

A memory I can barely remember, a memory drawn in clay.

The iridescent pileus clouds swim peacefully over her hometown –

I try my best to recall that this place was never our common ground.

We tried to make houses out of cardboard boxes and compulsive lies.

The walls didn’t stand the test of time, they collapsed after our highs.

My pillows have sharp teeth nowadays, they bite me with pure rage –

Yet I still wish on a falling star, beg for the love of my dying mage.

But she doesn’t hear my cries, no, she’s chosen to look away –

My feeble ego convulses, collecting the blowback in an ashtray.

There’s a blizzard outside and an ice storm rising in my very own chest –

Her sweet warmth feels too adjacent… I mustn’t surrender or ever rest.

Maybe the hunger will implode one day, maybe it will survive,

And we’ll keep reaching for one another to prove we’re barely alive.

-JW

Bad Augurs And Worse Tempers

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Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

Scratches on my door, figures by my bed,

White faces in the windowpane.

I know something horrid is approaching.

The stars blink wily as ghouls refrain.

Cuts appear all over my tired body,

They ooze, they burn like wildfire.

But I can’t leave this feeling alone

With its spooks, too dark and dire.

Even paper bruises my skin these days,

I smear the blood all over.

The void behind my forehead widens

Engulfing the room, bursting the controller.

Yet I stay with the rising discomfort,

The curtain is ready for the last show.        

The pure panic in my gaze spirals

As the mirror yells torturously:

“Virago!”

-JW

The Key To LED Is Blue

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Photo by Andre Moura from Pexels

The mauve satin sky has fallen upon my borough

Giving all faces the anonymity of a John Doe.

We’re all in veils, we’re balancing on the rim.

We all move in vain, it’s muted, dull and dim.

The light we consume can be bought in store

And houses in my street have the same iron door.

Each night it seems there’s a stranger in my bed.

The illusion of normalcy is messing with my head.

I could swear – the sun’s made from diodes too.

Some keep chanting, “the key to LED is blue.”

Although it seems likely what’s inside remains real

They did replace my roses with stainless steel.

So I try to look closely at jasmines and maples –

The edges are fastened with invisible staples.

Translucent wires keep forcing me to smile

While my throat’s burning with curses and bile.

My pillow’s filled with pages of charred books,

There’s only normalcy, normalcy

Wherever I look.

-JW

Killing Friends

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The leaves were covered in frozen mist during that October sunrise,

Birds chirped their goodbyes through the glistening clouds

And there was this emptiness the beauty couldn’t suffice.

Chilly tombstones surrounded us both as far as the eye could see.

An unspoken promise and mystery arose in the silence

But your glance twitched in horror, not in glee.

“What does it take to kill a friend?” I wondered to myself mischievously

As the city reminded us of its wandering ways with loud honks,

Taking us out of the delirious sleep.

“You told me to take you away but what’s the catch?” I spoke up.

My sweater wasn’t warm enough to keep the breezes away.

I was too focused to feel hopeful.

Internally you pleaded with your own shame, with your own instincts.

“You can’t outrun me now, it’s painfully obvious,

But your body will try once the adrenaline stings.”

We stood wordlessly for a moment more, then you bolted for the street.

I enjoy a good chase, yet – this was a mediocre one at best.

Every lion has to hunt, every hunter has to eat.

The leaves were covered in frozen red droplets during that October sunrise,

Birds fled for cover towards the stormy autumn clouds

And there was beauty to it no emptiness could replace.

-JW

Death’s Wearing Her Perfume Tonight

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Photo by Maria Orlova from Pexels

Balsamic scent floats all over the house, all over the garden,

It dances on the tip of our tongues, it begs for pardon.

It whirls like dust, bright lilac, and it stains our teeth.

Who will be the first to stop drinking it?

Who will realize we are stuck in a heath?

The thick odour keeps attacking the senses in gentle gushes.

Sickly sweet particles contaminate the air and everything it touches.

Our faces are paralyzed, our eyes roll back in the skulls.

Who will be the first to breathe out?

Who will call out death’s tricks and lulls?

It appears there’s no other way out of the swelling fog,

The mist bathes us in sorrow, is this the epilogue?

The fragrant symphony threatens to overpower the sky.

Who will be resilient enough to exile it?

Who will defy another night to stay alive?

-JW