Tag: revenge

Accusation

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I can do it again,

I can go back to my friends

who only call me back when I pay them.

I can crush my own heart

until you feel content.

I will smile wide while you cause mayhem.

If my love is worth nothing,

say it to my face,

watch my kindness disappear.

You trapped me in a cage,

called me your only darling

when you knew my death was near.

They told you I was done,

no hope left to spare.

I watched you from the shadows for years.

My blade drips ink,

your neck leaks regret.

We all become what we fear.

-Jackie

Revenge Is My Faith

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The gray ladies by the lake embellish my crimes

With jewels and bloodlust, and twists that scare me.

My knives puncture flesh and dance on red dimes,

Yet no one with a kind soul calls me Bloody Mary.

These palms do not butcher for pennies or thrills.

Revenge is my faith but I can replace faux gods.

If your grandmother’s story gives you a cold chill,

Keep your hands in your pockets to beat the odds.

-Jackie

Sweeter Than Revenge

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The darkest nights fill me up like a seven-course meal.

Everything from past regrets to clouds colored in teal,

From the faintest stars to anger that runs through blood,

It all flows into my irises as I spew darkness like flood.

And the others warned me about the muddy shadows,

But I have learned to live in the shade and opaque lows.

The moon touches my skin with its rays like tentacles,

Burning away my flesh until my form becomes skeletal.

I try to drown out the writings on the wall you left,

They stain my shell, then leave me plain and wrecked.

The part of me that trusted creatures of the day is gone,

Now I am swimming up the hill, ready to kill and spawn.

And the darkest nights make me hungrier than ever.

Run while you can, this will not be a friendly endeavor.

I come with the darkness, but do not leave in the dawn.

This is sweeter than revenge, watching your traitors crawl.

-JW

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

Revenge

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The word tastes so bittersweet on my tongue,

Looks good on paper in an illuminated room.

I’ve perfected these plans ever since I was young

And you trapped yourself not a day too soon.

What do we have here? A cheap skin sack

Laced with a smidge of my own blood type.

A third rate man with a bow on the back,

Shimmery, yes, but never worth the hype.

So I look under the trembling, leaking lids,

Trying to make sense of the six years of pain.

Everything’s there, mental jitters and skids,

But I know how you love to show fake feign.

I pull your chair closer, I lift up your chin.

Your neck cracks in a despicable way.

The drops of sweat cover your grey skin

Therefore you’re aware I came to play.

But the moment I uncover my angry wrist

To scratch your sinful heart of teak,

The alarm punches my sleep with both fists

And I never get the revenge

I’ve been destined to seek.

-JW

Z

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Spider webs of emotion tied through my senses, recalling the past so bright.

When I was younger, I was clashing with every soul – what a cost to make it right.

Swords of ill kept pledges dwelled from behind, blades racing through air.

When I was younger, I was crashing into every hurdle hoping to find something fair.

No one heard the cries when I transformed into the huntress of unforgivable.

Loaning sins and trading good lives for desperate ones, lending the unspeakable.

Pathetic men dressed in red capes tried to warn me but they turned to stone…

If they only marched faster, I would retreat. I wouldn’t have to make it alone.

Tonight the executioner is blinking thrice before filling Satan’s cup.

Chains around his chest is not jewelry. They are gilded butterflies, tied up.

Oh, Z, but imagine how quiet it is on the other side. No one to betray or berate,

No alliances. Just imprisoned efforts and no strength to hold a pen. To create.

With my stolen innocence I offered you peace. You crushed it to dust adversely.

Yet my mind is not secular when I hear your voice so I pick the land of no mercy.

Let me jump. I know I’ll make it to purgatory. I’ll find a way out just scarcely.

-JW

Sugar of Lead

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I want to open you up the way you tried to open up my guts.

The way you bled me dry with all the feedbacks and the interrupts

While simultaneously dreaming of me as some cold cuts

On your dinner table – too bad you were always a klutz.

I trusted your instincts the way I never trusted my own.

The only sounds you want to hear from me are quiet groans –

It’s never easy to admit I’m not silly and that I have grown.

Yet the hardest part to bear is that I’ve set silence as your ringtone.

The farthest part from truth is the closest to reality. At least – mostly.

I don’t dream of lives or of deaths because I don’t sleep.

Don’t shush the lion inside before the propane cranes rise above me

And knock the crap out of my conscience. That’s one thing I should keep.

But nothing is sacred when a victimless crime takes its place.

The only rights or wrongs in this scene are how you set the pace.

As the lack of air will cause them some trouble when I puncture,

They will deem myself as a culprit when I’m really just the vulture.

Isn’t it the culture?

I lose structure.

My loose morals do rupture –

But I won’t break unless they capture.

A few good men

And loose pieces in my head.

With all due disrespect,

You die the way you make your bed.

Red. Inbred. Unthread.

Whatever’s your excuse, you’re not mislead.

This is the place you should pray to drop dead

Before fed the sugar of lead.

-JW