Tag: poetry daily

Over The Edge

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I’m dancing near the edge, hanging my frizzy hair over this trench,

Dangling my life in front of a great beast, ready to be fully drenched.

No, the fear I should be feeling avoids me, it doesn’t even bother,

It knows I’m ready to kill for excitement, to betray my own brother.

And maybe I’ve been wrong all this time and the drop will be deadly?

But sensibility’s scary so I keep escaping hearts that once bled me.

Sometimes the way out is testing whether you’ll drown or float,

And the choice can be yours if you don’t erase each and every footnote.

The big unknown has always called for my bones so maybe, just maybe,

I forgive my own debts for once and stop selling out dreams to those

Who will never repay me.

-JW

The Jester

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Dance around my living room, you beautiful fool,

Shatter all the fragile frames, step on all the rules.

Challenge me to jolly fights, break me into half.

When it’s time to feed my pride, please let it starve.

Roll me down the steepest hill you have ever seen,

Laugh a bit but let me cry tears of pure sheen.

Stab the ripest strawberries in the queen’s garden –

When they come for your head, hide under the carpet.

Play with the nitid memories I hide in the closet,

Bring them to the banks and take out a grand deposit.

Just don’t let my spirit fade for a week or two,

Play the jester, be the clown,

Never say the truth.

-JW

The Myth Of Forgiveness

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Maybe I don’t know how to forgive,

Only how to forget all that I had to give.

And perhaps I wasn’t meant to be here,

Wasn’t meant to boil over or sear.

It must look foolish – how I beat on

After being burned by your pale neon.

Somehow the road ahead still unravels

So I cut my feet open on rough gravel.

It hurts just a little more every day,

The fire I carry keeps falling off the tray.

But I stich the nasty wounds up nicely,

Cut open those who try to defy me.

Even when the cross crushes my back

I carry my anger, keep it intact.

Perhaps a quieter time will come,

I’ll make peace with what I can’t outrun.

But if forgiveness is only a myth,

I’ll be sure to find everyone

Who made me take these hits.

-JW

The Sixth Year

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You’re smearing empty words all over the newspapers,

Making me curse loud enough to wake the neighbors.

I haven’t seen your face in six years but I know

You still bring the darkness wherever you go.

And once I was foolish enough to follow the trail,

Despising guardian angels for letting me fail.

Now I see you in a car purchased with blood money,

Bought by selling my hopes out, and ain’t that funny?

Blood’s only thicker than water for the lucky ones,

The roots you laid down in me won’t ever see the sun.

And the faux promises you spilled have evaporated,

They’re sleeping in the shadows, dangerously sedated.

It’s alright though, my rage can escape all your abysses,

But you can’t escape the truth or live without your fixes.

So just pray to the gilded gods that you can make it,

Just pretend one more day that if I can fake it,

You can also fake it.

-JW

Heart For Dinner

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The tires of your car ruin the perfect peace and radio silence

As you approach with crocodile tears glued to your lids like diamonds.

There’s toxic spite in your back pocket, the antidote’s in my bag.

Your stare can only hurt me that far

With its raging red flags.

Birds are not chirping tonight, no, they’re flying for their lives.

But I always stayed, through all your nosebleeds and nosedives.

Now you thank me one last time by handing me the trigger,

Hoping I have what it takes to resist

Eating your heart for dinner.

The trees lean in and wait for me to make the final decision.

I do not rush, I let my fury pierce the air with marksman’s precision.

My words slide through your stiff chest like some lost shrapnel

As I leave you there imagining

That we never happened.

-JW

Shiny Enough

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Photo by Johannes Rapprich from Pexels

Sore gashes stitching themselves together

Under full moon, through freezing weather.

Some still fear the threads and needles

So they fall on the ground,

Pretending they’re feeble.

Shoes glued to the asphalt, nowhere to go,

Each wrongful movement makes you glow

And once you’re shiny enough to see

They’ll include you

In the next killing spree.

Silver liquids poured into scarlet eyes

Until the palest lips loudly apologize.

But those who don’t seem to ever learn

End up protesting

In an unlocatable urn.

-JW

The City Calls

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The walls within this sickly concrete sea monster always look too dull,

The faces are greyer than October sky, barely sticking to their skulls.

I bury all clues and shotguns where I know I’d never step my foot again

And blend in with the walls, breathing in fumes and fresh propane.

The lines are long but I’m used to waiting for an uneventful death.

Each humanoid figure around is the same – everything but a real threat.

We submissively march to the music and lower our eyes when it stops.

Some ashy buildings appear on the horizon just as my stomach drops.

I can sense the electric nervousness strings overtaking the numb crowd.

This is the moment we could run for cover – only if we were allowed.

Instead we brace for impact as cement fills the streets, we are tongue tied.

We’ve been taught since a very young age:

When the city calls, you must always be ready to die.

-JW

The Forest Is My Church

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Velvet winds soothe my battle scars in the navy blue moonlight,

My feet are enchanted, they keep moving out of wicked spite.

I kneel, letting my bare skin touch a softly frozen heap of snow.

The forest becomes my church, and I’m seated in the very first row.

Curious creatures peak through the branches to catch a glimpse,

Caterpillars and butterfly wings mix with sharp teeth and fins.

And the ground beneath me shakes with a long awaited relief,

Hugging my wounded parts and covering them gently, leaf upon leaf.

Foxgloves ring their bells thrice, the forest echoes their sound.

They search for my soul in all the boxes marked “lost and found”.

One night they will discover it and I will be pushed into the light

But for now the morning wearily calls us as my sanctuary

Vanishes from sight.

-JW

Little Fictions

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Photo by Kristina Paukshtite from Pexels

The rosewood door to your dream house still haunts me while I sleep.

I wanted to walk the highroad but you dragged me into the deep.

Withheld secrets spilled on the floor, sour air between our bodies

As you ask me to close the door from the other side

And find some better hobbies.

The keys to my old apartment hide in your closet with all the “sorries”.

I spend my weekends cutting little fictions out of our happiest stories.

There’s no way we got that far up the mountain just to die on a hill,

No way a pile of ash destroyed the paper palaces

The strongest fires couldn’t kill.

Now whenever I drive by your house, it doesn’t remind me of home.

You can change the paintings and curtains, but you cannot rebuild Rome.

Every new morning comes with another ounce of sharpened lucidity,

And I hope it cuts my pride open just enough

To defy your gravity.

-JW

Weightless

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Photo by Daria Sannikova from Pexels

The sparks dance around in your gaze,

Spin through the candle light in all their grace,

And for a moment it’s easy to imagine –

Our souls are something more than voids

Labelled “extremely fragile”.

The lanterns rain down in warm flakes,

Painting the night and its seven remakes.

Whenever you part your lips to speak,

Your voice drips like melted wax,

Deep, enticing and sleek.

The fire inside purifies my misdeeds,

Untangles the stories with missed leads.

A minute more and I’ll be weightless –

Ready to fall without second guessing

Into your oasis.

-JW