Tag: Pitching A War

Iron Boots

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Forceful interrogation tactics greedily pushed on fragile necks.

Overturned rules pawing their ways to palaces built out of gloomy wrecks.

No monster frightening enough to make me look back at the fear.

I’m not putting my head down for you, I’m tired of speeches so insincere.

Pressure me all around the clock, dig me some ditches and holes.

You’re still the one who compensates just to feed the moles.

The water you fed me was poison but why would you bat an eye.

You’d rather ignore the pain you cause and scream at the man in the sky.

I’m tired of seeing your filthy paws reaching for the promised glory.

While you’re building skyscrapers, I’m glad I reached the second storey.

So I’m keeping my head up despite you stepping on it with iron boots,

And if you decide not to shoot, we both might see the day when our spite

Turned damaged flowers into fruits.

-JW

A Pin Drop

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What do you expect me to say? There’s nothing left.

It’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop, or a heart stop.

All the exits guide to the left.

Was there any fresh love between the two of us anyway?

Maybe we left it to rot for too long and forgot,

And decided to give it another day.

Is there a nice way to say “thank you for letting me down”?

I hope you don’t overreact when I lose my selfless act

And start selling the love in pounds.

Why are you always so quick on your feet to chase self-pity?

The night I went silent the first time, you became the mime

And I ran towards the city.

…I should’ve known when you came back, it felt annoyingly iffy.

Tonight I’m shaking you out in beams like a fever dream.

I’m free and I’m claiming this neon city.

I’m turning my kisses into hickeys.

-JW

Whatever Rhymes

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We’re all raised with these naïve ideas of our identities but we don’t know,

We sing along to whatever rhymes and when it doesn’t, we amplify the audio.

“You’re not the bad day in your story, you’re not even the narrator.

You’re neither the background noise nor the all-knowing, sad traitor.”

This is how we’re guided through earlier years, believing it’s all there is –

Why wouldn’t it be, if it makes so much sense and makes our lives muy feliz?

The faster we grow, the harder it gets to find truth in those poorly written tales,

And with every piece of faith we breathe in, there are seven parts of us that exhale.

“You’re not the worst day in your story, you’re not even the almighty narrator.

You’re neither the background cacophony, don’t be a goddamn traitor!”

The more they repeat, the quicker you reason your way out of their crossroads,

And once the spell’s broken, the princes turn back into the ancient swamp toads.

But don’t be ashamed or worried – we’re all raised on these old world remedies.

We’re safe as long as it seems to a passerby that we’re still on our knees.

-JW

Blocked Out

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And I can’t spill ink on this page with all the pressure on my chest,

All the well-meaning souls yelling, knowing – it’s not for the best.

I can’t speak up when you only taught me how to be silent as a grave.

No second chance left for those who stab you to death

Claiming they’re trying to save –

Save what exactly, what are you protecting here?

The sound of your cruel intentions is unbearable to hear.

And I can’t waste time spilling ink for those who spilled their guts,

Re-imagining trauma, stealing my pain and romanticizing the cuts.

You can claim you’re also struggling but how does it make it better?

Analyzing my mind as if it’s yours, giving me a straitjacket,

Calling it a wool sweater.

How could you even assume I’m going to take that beating?

You were slamming my warmth but your soul has no central heating.

Don’t be mistaken, if I ever need someone to help me with the climb

I’m going to choose my own two feet over your cold shoulder

Every single time.

-JW

Travelling Show

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Quite tragic what happened when I dropped you and left.

I turned away dramatically while holding your spine

Like a cigarette.

At least that’s what you’re telling them, that’s how I know

That when I left, you made me into an amusement park,

Into a travelling show.

Not a circus, just a bare stage and bad storytelling.

I can tell you lie because your tongue is sour from spite

And it’s rapidly swelling.

It hurts to re-run the memories, to think about how I quit.

You were extremely vile but I wasn’t scared – so go,

Take away your friendship that’s counterfeit.

-JW

Symphonies

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The monster I raised is no longer inside.

No running or hiding from the spoiled evening tide.

Relief bouncing off walls, exploding from the chest.

I want to rest. I want to rest. I just want to rest.

Birds chirping to some long forgotten symphonies.

I dance and I swear, no one sees –

I can do as I please.

When I’m alone, I control all the seas

But only as long as the monster agrees.

-JW

Fresh As A Daydream

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It’s one of those days. Someone breaks the news, the news break my bones.

Simple, logical. I’m lost in time and space. I’m freeing the dusty thrones.

Marching around the room aimlessly, memories bursting by my teary eyes,

Light speed is nothing compared to the rush of these thoughts, these lies.

I’m deep in self-pity and misery, angry at the destiny that cost me the sky.

Why do I only believe that there’s a god when I’m high on the cupid’s supply?

Then my song comes on. It crumbles. The reality reappears fresh as a daydream.

I start remembering all the parts you didn’t own, how I was always the A-team.

And the freedom sets me jumping up and down, flying down a flight of stairs.

My father used to say that goodbyes are only bitter if the opponent fought fair.

All life spent running from demons – maybe this is the one I beat facing him directly?

Maybe you were the one wicked curse not going in for the kill,

Maybe you shot to protect me?

-JW

Blood Is (Not) Thicker

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As cold as these memories are, I’ll try torching them nonetheless.

The rose tattoo on my shoulder is freezing, the shakes are becoming effortless.

The marrow in the bones is long gone, my hunger doesn’t stand a chance.

And I’m sorry that I’m so damn spoiled – I tried to warn you in advance.

I see troops marching with the machines, gathering their accolades.

My tongue – twisting in an endless loop, seeking words to dull the blades.

It is never easy to lose the one you looked for to a petty act of vengeance.

Why in our twenties we’re acting like we owe respect to ancestors

And also – descendants?

It’s good to have pride but how much honor can each generation carry?

Every step hurts the parents, every misstep – kids; cheeks burning redder than sweetest cherries.

As scary as it is to leave the past behind and future ahead, I will take my chances.

Surviving from second to second, trusting my mind, not my blood-addicted senses.

-JW

Drunk on My Silence

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I used to get drunk on feeling blue about your love,

I used to get hyped when the push came to shove.

My palms sweating at your arrogance, heating up,

But I kind of enjoyed being there, being stuck.

The empathy I carried was too heavy for your shoulders.

The hate you poured weighed me down like a boulder.

I said: “You don’t have to agree but please listen.”

You snapped. “I hope your kind dies out of this system.”

The anger blinded my focus so I span out of control.

Tired of the middle ground, done with trying to cajole.

I used to get drunk on my silence to keep it nonviolent,

But I’m done thinking you can cut me open,

I’m done staying silent.

My voice has never been riant –

My blood is too defiant.

Try me. Try and challenge this bitter story

But you won’t make it taste more compliant.

-JW

Upside Down Morse

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Protected cruelty knows no limits so let’s make it learn.

No mercy for those who leave helpless bodies to burn.

The mission has failed us and a prayer or chant won’t do –

For every stab you encounter, I will gladly take two.

No space for safety in this place with no sacred codes.

I don’t understand, it must be an upside down Morse.

The message is unforgivably brutal to those who hear –

Out of all the weapons you’ve got, I wouldn’t use fear.

-JW