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
The cabinet in my living room creaks open at night.
Pages burns and twists turn,
And heroes give up their light.
Seven ounces of rage bleed through my red nailbeds.
Pennies drop on the floor,
And my agony is fated.
I am a drop in the ocean, I am the dust between sand.
My head dreams of castles
And starcrossed lands.
But the candle on the table drips stories yet untold.
I cannot put them down,
Do not give me your gold.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 