Sometimes I forget I’m not alone in this fight
And those voices can still tell wrong from right.
I cry myself to sleep when I remember how far
I could run without stones tearing my shoes apart.
But it’s midnight and everyone’s sound asleep.
I guess those demons are mine to keep
And wrangle by suiting their every need.
If I do, my safety’s not guaranteed.
But I look through the window.
I push away greed.
-JW
I don’t usually fall for things but I fell for your plastic carcass and rubber skin.
Pulled me in with your featherweight but I can tell your patience is wearing thin.
Your hair makes a sound only the driest of savannas can reproduce in the heat.
I hear there were many before me yet I’m chasing my luck by sliding underneath.
And underwater riddles are my favorite because the pressure is higher than the tempo.
No wasted words, the air is running out but you’re yet to learn that you’re the John Doe.
Not a single dove in this fairytale to deliver the message of you losing this round.
They’ll say the battle is up for the grabs while your glass eyes will let me get crowned.
-JW
How do they control me when I put pillows on my ears?
How do they contort me if rut’s as mellow as my tears?
They’ve been conning everyone. They cut those who share.
They’ve put lighting in the bottle and smut on the ones who care.
How are my hands empty if I grab straws while crashing down?
How were thy lands plenty when some steer laws like lashing clowns?
We’ve been shy but twenty is enough to make it out.
We’ve swum by their heavies, one more day to plan the route.
One day more and no more drought.
-JW
The smoke coming out the arena in old town square is never harmless.
Chanting voices in the airwaves sound so sharp, they’re charmless.
I step forward, one with the crowds, dancing to the sound of sirens.
All we’ve ever known here is abuse so we enjoy the violence.
Amplifiers know we hear them, we just don’t listen with our souls.
Their five year plan was to ruin us, and they’ve been scoring every goal.
Cellular devices all over the city lose power when the Pain Man sings.
If you don’t denounce “truth to power”, he will kiss you with blue rings.
As we approach the thick smoke, people are torn out of the groups.
I look around only to see they’re dragged by our own, not the troops.
The arena is filled with bright objects they took when we were harmless.
When we’re pushed back in our rooms I notice – the sky has gone starless.
-JW
This is not a sunny city, all the light is sold on dark corners.
Too far for me to reach, too dangerous for my own mourners.
I’ve been too unwell to ask someone to buy that spark for me.
It’s not unfair to say that everybody here is unstable or sorry.
Stuck in my four walls, tearing apart every shelf to find it –
What if I stacked up on bulbs when I still had some fine wit?
The Wire-eyes on the radio keeps screaming out my oldest fears.
I pinch my forearm purple to dull the need to volunteer.
In the mirror room I notice how my scleras are now the reddest.
The radio station switches its ring to a plethora of menace.
They sentence me to another year of unrest.
“You can’t wrest guns away from someone under
Their own mind’s duress.”
-JW
Most days I don’t have anything to contribute to the conversation.
Sitting and listening to the dialogues or tributes, waiting for my station.
Just as yesterday, this day reaches its finale but I struggle to sleep.
The conversations repeat while engraving the words way too deep.
I’ve spoken up a few times but it hasn’t been what I was promised.
The mic was carried away by somebody they call Thomas.
My nerve ends disconnect from shame I felt in that very moment.
These streets worked hard to teach me that doubt is a bad omen.
The city is well-planned and thought out with its harsh borders,
A labyrinth you’re not escaping without queen’s direct orders.
But the queen is dead, you’ve forgotten, just as you did last night.
The cavalry’s lead by rebels, but not what you’re thinking, not your kind.
Every thought you have bows to them until it falls straight to damnation
So I keep listening to the dialogues or tributes,
waiting for the final destination.
-JW
I’ve lived past two cities with contained light sources.
They’re tightening around my neck with some nooses.
My burgundy dresses aligned with their tales
But in order to breathe, I went off the rails.
I’ve lived by five rivers, all seemingly dirty.
The locals swore I wouldn’t leave until thirty.
Now five years have passed and I’m haunted by them –
Isn’t leaving the original REM?
And what if I carry this spirit of judgement?
Somedays my heart runs yet some – it just doesn’t.
I’ve lived past two cities with contained light sources.
Perhaps to escape that I’ll need more wild horses.
-JW
Killing my every spare moment with buzz and with noise.
Made it thus far without booze spilling on my records of choice.
Ears bleeding from sound attacking my senses like thirsty wolves
But I’ve only made it this far through thoughts that dissolve.
Spreading my hopes on bread without guilt to eat them all up.
My last week’s happy face on the streets was a cover up
And my covers are tinted with deep blue undertones, if you noticed.
When death and I finally waltz, I might even get a bonus.
They call my eyes playful but painfully so, if that’s a hint.
The chaos behind those greyish stones could use a lighter tint.
A true artist never unveils tricks or techniques but I oppose –
When graveyard goes for the flash button, I strike a pose.
With each coming second the buzz will become a craftier thieve.
You’ll ignore these lines while I apply for another sick leave.
-JW
Another change of pace is coming – my skin shatters, my shirt rips.
I don’t believe a single word you spread through your pale gospel lips.
No liveliness in that bright stare, no faith behind those blurry brows.
The black hair darkens as I leave but you keep shouting ifs and hows.
“A temptress” was what you once called me – while you ran with dirty crowds.
Your mouth reeks of tasteless migraines punching holes while masses bow.
As you convince me to go steady, I’m convicted for your crimes.
Another change of pace is ready – I go low as you count dimes.
The sunrise plays its part in north but I’m too tired to leave stars.
An arm pulls off the coats and armor, no love left for pre-lost wars.
-JW
And to people who fell for the illusion of me doing well which I created –
I believed it too, but my mind stood in the cold and stayed berated.
Put one finger into the dark molasses, hit one more nail into the coffin.
Built a crematory of burnt bridges and needles dropping.
Yet – my gullible soul waited for the pain to soften.
I believe that everyone deserves a re-do but I wanted to have two
And maybe that’s too much to ask from my younger self, she’s still missing clues.
Once they reveal what’s hidden, she’ll learn not to overpay her dues.
In the distance I yet again see a sign blinking “What’s the use?!”
When I turn the other cheek, they steal my insecurities to turn me into a muse.
I know how to cause a fight but I’m yet to learn how to make it easy for me.
They once called me Francis Scott – all focused on the glitz, not on the story.
And I’ll keep covering my tortured being with saying “sorry”
When I don’t owe a single apology to people who came before me.
So fall for the mirage, don’t hesitate to bathe in pain’s glory.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 