Tag: "Pitching A War" series

Tasteless Migraines

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Another change of pace is coming – my skin shatters, my shirt rips.

I don’t believe a single word you spread through your pale gospel lips.

No liveliness in that bright stare, no faith behind those blurry brows.

The black hair darkens as I leave but you keep shouting ifs and hows.

“A temptress” was what you once called me – while you ran with dirty crowds.

Your mouth reeks of tasteless migraines punching holes while masses bow.

As you convince me to go steady, I’m convicted for your crimes.

Another change of pace is ready – I go low as you count dimes.

The sunrise plays its part in north but I’m too tired to leave stars.

An arm pulls off the coats and armor, no love left for pre-lost wars.

-JW

A Beg for Decency

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People tell me I can’t blame them for yesterday’s sins.

When they dread me or behead me, I’m the one to call it in.

People ruin all I have built so they can get a lesson.

When they chose to burn me naked, I kept my old dress on.

People talk what they can’t learn but withhold the blame.

When I beg for decency, they claim we’re all the same.

People crush our dreams with dirt but see, nobody wins.

When the guts go down the sink, we cut our lips on rims.

-JW

Mint

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Peppermint leaves melting ice cubes with their vital scent.

I’m crushing your heart being nice while you’re smoking a Kent.

The window is calling my skeleton nightly, like it’s for rent.

“Take a step back, friend, and use one more day to make amends.”

The cold water is squeaking my name and I must yell back.

Listened to seven records today, ditched the blame and finished the track.

Still – I can’t sleep, the pain my brain vomits paints it all black

But I promised to stay. Demons entered my soul. What a heart attack…

Does everyone else feel this haunted just for breathing aloud?

Is it a split between those who I trust and us, stormy clouds?

I’d help every stranger I meet, if my mind said that it’s allowed.

My words can’t melt you away but they can circle and crowd

Until I’m up that hill, ditching your cigarette smell and my doubt.

I’ll get to the promised land first. I’ll get to the thought drought.

-JW

Wager

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Building oceans out of used duct tape rolls,

Hiding the motions while it’s taking a toll –

The chemistry’s fake and we’re caught blinded.

Five years ago I thought we’re like-minded.

But people change morals and wind changes heart.

I chose to go silent and you chose to go dark.

Won’t call you arch nemesis or even a stranger,

Yet the money I put on you –

I’d never again repeat that wager.

-JW

“Hard To Work With”

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Always threatened to meet my maker if I disobey –

If my smile isn’t wide enough, I have to pay.

If my sleeves are too short, I become the prey.

The world must be someone else’s oyster because to me

It’s another circle in a groundhog day.

Always scared to be left scarred or for the dead –

If I ever talk back, they might crush my head.

If I have some pride, they call me featherbed.

But they can’t stop, I need to be taught a lesson

No matter how much I’ve already bled.

Always scrutinized for not being cautious all the way –

If you get annoyed by my attitude, I don’t get a say.

If you think I’m pretty, I must keep your affection at bay.

And I pray, and I pray, and I pray that there comes a time

Where my experience is not underplayed

So I don’t have to put “hard to work with” on my resume.

-JW

Covering The Petals

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Running for your life is not good enough, go faster, over the speed limit.

Ruining everything sacred in this looped fantasy of yours taught me to skim it

But never showed me how to sit through a storm with my blinders shut.

Your neck twisting around mine, pulling away, and we’re stuck in this rut.

“Life has no meaning,” they say, “if you waste it trusting your own guts and bones.”

“It has no meaning,” they repeat, “if you share love through cables and telephones.”

But it’s not easy to follow someone playing god with menacing conviction.

It’s hard to walk down the road of not being able to tell apart fact from fiction.

I keep bleeding on the razor’s edge, fingers all cut up from pretending I’m fine.

I leap forward and rock back, knowing too well that they’re approaching from behind.

But the mountains echo my pleas for safe escape and I see dew covering the petals.

The melody goes silent as I escape this dead-end of dead eyed people

Giving souls out as rentals.

-JW

Speaking in Tongues

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Don’t waste my time, I know how to do it on my own.

The tears dry by turning to ice while they call me Joan.

I might be a heroine but not yet a saint, don’t lean on this loan.

Sky stinks of pastels and my soul evaporates into acetone.

Birds outside of my window are shooting for the pale moon.

Hours passing by, promising that I can leave this place soon.

The destiny is dragging out my breaths to the ancient runes.

I don’t mind theatrics but this murder feels like a honeymoon.

The further down the road, the more absurd it all becomes.

So much time to spend, yet we have to follow the beat of the drums?

Let me scream into the world’s pillow while everyone hums.

So much time to waste, so many lively lungs but it seems –

No one is noticing the swords and the guns.

Am I speaking in tongues?

-JW

Hometown Blues

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Eyes wide open, staring into the one hundred little defeats they’re selling.

Their children – infected with prejudices, it’s the only sound they’re spilling.

Broken childhoods sold on every street corner, spreading faster than rabies.

Their boys never learnt that girls don’t have to grow into convenient ladies.

Hair locks daintily combed back to avoid any confusion or unspoken rumor.

In towns like this word spreads through gazes and bites harder than a tumor.

If you think I’m too harsh, go ahead and cut those looks out of me, I dare you.

But let’s be blunt – you can’t imagine the suffocation if you weren’t there too.

All seven heavens could open for me but I’d still look back, scared to be followed.

Don’t beg me to sing those hometown blues again

If you’re not prepared to be swallowed.

-JW

Father’s Day

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Youth leaning over the half-built walls is not that upsetting but don’t turn away.

If you grew up when metal curtains were burning, there’s debt you need to re-pay.

You’ve been the dead horse beating back for far too long, and we’re not playing.

If you don’t want to listen to your children one bit, please know:

For this party you’re stuck in – we’re not paying.

I learned a thing or two from my daddy on smiling while playing deadly or dirty.

The lessons pour out of me as I’m wiser, they won’t stop until I’m far in my thirties.

Makes me wonder – what was it in him that made so many lost souls scared to death?

But then I remember how horrified I was when for a second he was my only safety net.

No backstabbing or second thoughts in that mind, only going straight for the kill.

So if I could see through his petty lies, don’t hold me back and ask me to shut up

Until the very moment my heart is perfectly still.

Let the youth lean on the same fences you’ve been holding up for many seasons.

Let the youth learn how they were props that you only kept in place by threatening

To charge every challenger for treason.

-JW

Tightly Sealed Freedom

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The three musketeers of the end of all things are coming to our town.

The fake sun is trembling and neon is shining through a worn-out frown.

Apathetic noon showers my neck with kisses it doesn’t really mean

And I can’t remember how I lost my lustful self and turned into a fiend.

The target on my back is turning redder each day, getting lighter by minute.

Once it gets as big as the Ritz, you’ll see how Fitzgerald is going to spin it.

I embrace the last days of this tightly sealed freedom with the force of a madman.

Not packing much for the departure as you can never be ready for badlands.

Scoria and erosion reaching for my pound of flesh, is resisting even an option?

I’m dreaming about running but doom might be the answer for this corruption.

“No, don’t listen,” I hear someone whimpering right beneath my bleeding helix.

The three musketeers are approaching in distance and I sigh.

“Let’s give this place another shot but not lend it any credence.”

-JW