Tag: "Panic Room Songs" series

A Family Tree

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Keep your foot on the cheating pedal, hit the gas.

Drive faster, let the chills and shock pass.

Give me your torn up hands and please pray

That they don’t find your blood on Joanne’s ashtray.

Miss all the green lights and left-turn signals.

To the right, over the bridge, keep it simple.

They can’t trace our steps unless you confess.

I’ll do the talking, you can deal with the rest.

And I still smell your mother’s perfume on me.

Your father’s favorite song is making the view gory.

The lives that we spilt chase us through the roads.

Drive faster, let the image ahead split into codes.

Ones and zeroes,

We’re never alone.

-JW

Creeper

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The light in your window is still on, it’s blinking and fidgeting.

A candle’s lit on your bedroom table next to the piano and your drink.

The branches hug your window so tightly, it’s almost hard to see.

The closer I go, the faster my heart beats; I almost struggle to breathe.

Your friends are gone for the weekend so I’m curious – are you lonely?

Do you have anyone back in the city, was my invitation too phony?

Yet you dance around the place like you own it, the candles cheer you on.

My nose is almost touching the glass, my chest now weighs a ton.

One more careless spin and you waltz straight into the backyard,

I boldly invite myself into the house while you’re getting charred,

Puffing your seventh cigarette of the day, you’ve really changed a lot.

But I’m still as trustee yet not as sweet,

Smart enough now to cut down the flowers who rot.

-JW

Capture

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Photo by Francesca Zama from Pexels

I launch my teeth in your smooth right wrist,

Call it self-defense, but don’t call my thirst selfish.

Salty blood on my lips, they trickle down the neck.

You branded me evil for having some self-respect.

There’s nothing you hate more than disobedience.

You slap my face, I know you enjoy the experience.

The rope tightens around my waist and my ribs.

You slash my confidence like a fig.

I no longer hear the birds sing when I drift away.

The death licks its lips and picks up the tray.

-JW

A Young King

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Done hyperventilating over long-dead flowers,

Done praying for lost people in the darkest of hours.

My quill is sharp yet my words sound meek.

The daylight is a river, my reality is a creek.

One sneaker in mud, one step closer to my roots.

My blood is merciless, do not expect any fruits.

But I still sneak out in the cold, harmful dawn.

Done panicking over cruel butlers and pawns.

I do not feel like a young king climbing the fences,

I do not feel home while gathering expenses.

My words are cutting yet my reasons are too weak.

The daylight is a river, my reality is a creek.

-JW

Sleepless Desires

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Hot pink heels and a thermostat heart that guesses what she wants.

She’s into fuzzy things, casual disregard and nonchalance.

The car she drives is just as worn out as her second guesses.

You couldn’t tell her daughter is twenty by the way she dresses.

But she knows that nobody’s calling, she’s fully aware.

They grin at her sun-damaged skin and platinum blond hair.

The streets are calling her name and her sleepless desires.

Talk is cheap and her empathy isn’t for hire.

Yet she extends her palm towards the sun setting over city lights

As she takes a stranger’s hand disappearing into the neon night.

-JW

Status And Other Vices

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Photo by Lukas Rodriguez from Pexels

It always starts with one too many in candle-lit boudoirs.

His friends call him pleasant but they don’t know

What he does in the dark.

There’s always someone just right, someone too easy

So he judges everyone’s vices with vivid lust, thinking:

“I hope that she sees me.”

His shirt is fitted almost far too well, do you even care?

He looks down on those who don’t see his status,

He hates those who stare.

It usually ends with him smiling ever so faintly in the mirror.

The bathroom stinks, the sink is stained.

Nobody’s there when lights grow dimmer.

-JW