Tag: poetry

Scarlet Rhymes

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Your brain, it dictates you dark poetry.

Come and carve an artwork out of me.

I bleed black when you cut me open.

Baby, I’ve long been broken

Far beyond repair –

So don’t try to fixate on the just or the fair.

Cut away until there’s only an inky void left.

“Robbing me of breath is not a theft.”

Do your worst,

I’m neither your last nor your first.

Clean your knives without any guilt,

Don’t mind the guts that I’ve willingly spilled.

Trap my essence in a whiskey bottle,

Hide the mottle.

You need not worry when you fall asleep.

It wasn’t a creak,

It was only the wind in the attic.

Go ahead, close your eyes to the sound of static.

You didn’t hear the bottle break,

These days nightmares feel far from fake.

And the sound of blades getting sharpened

Shouldn’t make you this disheartened.

So don’t turn your head left.

“Robbing me of breath is not a theft.”

It is, however, a neon red perfidy

And, my dear, respectably and cursedly

You’ll bleed blue in your gilded sheets

Until your tongue is out of cheats.

My brain will dictate me scarlet rhymes

As it carves sense out of your senseless crimes.

-JW

Your Creations

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I’m like a dog on a leash barking at the passing cars.

Well, at least that’s what you have to say

About me in smoke filled bars.

But when was the last time you checked my collar?

Was the chain strong enough

To choke my pride with dollars?

And I know you’re paranoid these days, it shows,

Because I no longer howl at the moon

Whenever you feel low.

You’re looking behind your shoulder when it’s quiet

Because you know you taught me well

How to be proudly violent.

It hangs over your head, the confusion and disrespect.

You can’t fix my lust for blood

With a significant check.

And you don’t dare to ever look under your bed –

That’s where I dragged all the corpses

Of those you left for the dead.

So I might be the dog on a leash but I truly believe

You are the man tortured by his own creations

In his sleep.

-JW

Your Paper Crowns

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I walked through fire for you to hold the crown as a prize.

Imagine my surprise

When you told me you can’t recall my name.

Look at the frame,

The one behind your left lying eye

With me holding the barricades in place, head held high.

But go on and call me a traitor,

Soon you’ll be lacking innocent saviours

To sacrifice on hills filled with sports cars.

And trust me – I’ll walk through fire again to burn down your farce,

I’ll go to hell if it means you’re coming

To get a little loving

From the prince of lies himself.

He would put your face on the highest shelf

Of poor runner-ups

But you would never make a fuss

Because your head would be laminated,

Tongue dilated,

As I let your lips parch

While all those you’ve betrayed since last March

Take away your dignity and leave you to fight alone.

You’re not allowed a word or a moan.

They, too, walked through fire to hold the prize.

Imagine their surprise

When you swore that a paper crown would suffice.

-JW

Counting Down

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Once the droplets settle on the glass we both know it’s over,

But we still count down the minutes in case this’ll pass

As we grow older.

I draw circles in the humid air, slowly and somewhat patiently.

The leaves keep getting stuck in my frizzy weekend hair,

And then you say to me:

“Maybe something somewhere is better than this crushing feeling.

We’re both so young, yet looking the worse for wear,

We’re wilfully bleeding.”

But I take your words with a grain of salt and an ounce of solace.

It’s difficult to leave when parting ways is no one’s fault –

Yet, this love is lawless.

Once the droplets settle on the grass we both know it’s time,

But we still count down the seconds in case it’ll pass

With the freezing clime.

-JW

The Story, Retold

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Paint my face greyer than October mists

With the lightning bolts you strike

From your angry fists.

Dance around the subject when they ask

Whether exiling me

Was an easy task.

But never submit an answer worth their wait

So I keep being the last thing

On your plate.

A scandal or two won’t break a “good man”.

But if I play the cards wrong

They won’t understand.

And they’ll wonder where I went off the rails

When I accepted freedom

With all that it entails.

The next time you see me, call me an enemy.

Let my grey face fade

From your memory.

We’ll just play two strangers for everlong

As their thunderstorms

Paint the story all wrong.

Bleach

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I hold onto the cold banister

As they beg you:

“Please banish her.”

But you aren’t my punisher

So stand down.

Stay behind the barrier.

I know how to self-sabotage,

Say words like:

“We are meant to last.”

Then cut open the mirage,

Detach the wings

From the fuselage.

I contemplate my realities

As you wait it out

While the crowd isn’t pleased.

Fight again or appease?

The latter option

Feels like a sweet release

So I let go of what is out of reach.

Release the banister,

Let you win the siege.

Never trust those who preach

That life’s better

When soaked in bleach.

-JW

Don’t Take Me With You

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You swore to gods that your patience for me was long gone

When you cut me off like a deceitful con.

Even though you barely kept your head above the water

You never tried becoming a better father.

You stole time and trust from anyone who mattered

But my alliances were never scattered.

The night we last met your intentions were see-through.

I prayed – please don’t take me with you.

You never drove off that bridge in your selfish sadness.

Yet, you showed me the purest form of madness.

It’s been 6 years since I last heard your excuses,

But the pain you brought still feeds my muses.

And maybe, just maybe, you took me with you after all?

Because the rage I breathe feels like an endless fall.

-JW

Whisper The Name

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My tongue gets sour and bitter, it dreams up revenge fantasies.

A while back I hired it a babysitter

But it still screams out violent prophecies.

They try to bite me with their fangs, strip me of the power,

Acting as the god almighty

While I recklessly destroy and devour.

And I know they refuse to be scared of my baby pink guts.

But my blade, it makes moves.

It doesn’t stop until someone else rots.

My teeth get blacker with each hex that I spew at their swords.

But they’ve brought their hijackers,

They take over my thoughts and words.

Although I know it’s too late, my tongue sharpens its knives

Ready to unleash all the hate

Right back at their crooked hives.

So the bitterness slips away, I trip on its tails while it passes,

And I’m fit to fight again

Until they whisper my name in history classes.

-JW

The False Savior

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I sell and barter my last faith away

But I can’t be bothered

To save some for a rainy day.

In my view, it’s been pouring rain,

It’s been like this for ages, really.

So don’t turn my pages,

Don’t remove the flooring and pain.

And ask – who are you saving here?

My faith or your craving

To be close when I disappear?

But I’m steady where I stand.

Be ready to fight

If you ever dare to give me a command.

-JW

Humor Me

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What’s left out there to inspire me anymore?

My mind’s dry sense of humor

Feels like a foot in the coffin door.

So I’m just wondering – what are we aiming for

By blundering in thunder

With heels achy and soar.

It almost seems like I’ve lost all the passion,

Left it out for the fiends

To steal, abuse and just cash in.

My thoughts are sometimes the worst distraction,

They’re coded in Morse,

Only encrypted in small fractions.

The brain struggles to put a single sentence together

Until I’m all out of moral debts,

No ties left to severe.

So what’s really inspiring me in this icy weather?

The creativity’s refusing to humor me,

Each new day lasts forever.

-JW