My love letters to you always describe how I’m sinking, how I’m out of air,
Lungs collapsing under pressure, nose bleeding fury and salty despair.
It’s difficult to take another step in your direction as I’m fearful
The weight of carrying this bond might break me when you brand me as an earful.
Why is our dynamic always the one between a ruffian and coward?
We keep switching the roles, but one is always overpowered.
Is it a crime – dreaming about jumping on a runaway train with you, then fleeing?
My words work like a liquor on you, some days you’re screaming, some – you’re kneeling.
Often we imagine getting violent, even when we’re stone cold sober.
I really wish my lust would get you stupid high but you were never a smoker.
Untitled pages of our story keep flashing in front of my eyes. They’re burning.
Evaporating in the spring breezes, getting twisted in sun, almost as it isn’t hurting.
My love letters to you have never been love letters, they’ve been anchors.
Half of me wants to go see the deep end, half – hopes I’m pulled out by a tanker.
Both outcomes will come with a very similar cost, with no precalculation.
Both twists will show me another way to master flotation.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 