Tag: The Beautiful And Unwell

Frostbite

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Photo by Matheus Bertelli from Pexels

Stuck between a rut and a manic firework show pouring sparkles in the cuts.

Luck always outruns the ones who pretend that no gates are constantly shut.

Rude thoughts intrude my white blood cells, whispering how I’m a prude.

Crude laces and nude portraits covered in mud spin around me, reckless and lewd.

Lost, my hearts crossed in this sin city of Sue and sewers covered in rust.

Lust wraps the frost but I still feel pity that’s due. Eyes grow distant and crossed.

Dark lands leave marks on my shoulders while mirages sing to me through an arc.

Hark! The fire sparks, cold and ruts are camouflages of anchors dragging my soul

As a barque.

-JW

The Mirror Room

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Photo by Lukáš Dlutko from Pexels

I’m in the mirror room again. Nothing but reflections on reflections.

You can’t hide from the truth because facts don’t win elections.

Wherever you look – another portrait of you, distorted and agonized.

The ones that did it to you run free as devil can’t be penalized.

Everything you see is yourself, and it’s wrong, insufficient, insulting.

Why can’t you take a point chisel to the surface for some sculpting?

Your breath doesn’t taint the picture, it only enhances the desire

To throw yourself against the sharp edges of narcissism for hire.

The light is too bright, it’s blinding you into revealing the mistakes –

All the regrets or moments of doubt are baked into remakes.

You shut your eyes but the reflector in your brain keeps peeking

Into the mirror room again while your confidence keeps leaking.

What are you seeking in those charmed reflections?

Why aren’t you leaving?

-JW

Seven Armies

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Photo by Vladyslav Dushenkovskyi from Pexels

Jumping off the high horse with my name carved in its sides,

Wondering about what caused world’s greatest wars and suicides.

My mania is pouring out the chalices, strangling the victors.

Seven armies couldn’t hold it if the rules were any stricter.

Fields yield silently before me as I stab their crooked flesh.

What a pretty picture this is – slay with fear all dressed in mesh.

Not a single soul in sight to test my bravery and titles.

Rebels staying by my side, resting guns on red hot rifles.

Doctors tiptoeing around me with their pills and perfect crimes –

As they throw their words against me, I throw spite in twisted chimes.

Drums of Ante sing in distance but I kneel and grab the dust.

I cut open all my scabs to dip my ego in green lust.

-JW

Before I Wake

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I remember how I fell for two kind words spoken in a greyish dawn.

No color anywhere but in your lips, you fit in like the blindest pawn.

I guided your intentions downhill with my unfillable desires, seeking redemption.

Not a single hair moved on your chest when I called you my emancipation.

“Playing chess is unfair if your opponent has never learned to hold the rhythm

But you speed up your tango because it takes two to slay the monster with him.”

So I stay in the game I play with myself whenever I lose the colors,

Whenever I choose myself over somebody I suffocated within the covers.

No one will ever learn the truth, I saved the only copy on my conscience.

The devil has a duplicate key but the road to hell is paved with God’s sins

Masked as good intentions.

-JW

Flamethrowers And Butterflies

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Photo by Adrien Olichon from Pexels

My hands tied behind my back, eyes covered with two dark patches.

Sounds are slipping by me in circles, lights are dancing in flashes.

Your hand in mine was the last touch I asked for, what I wanted.

When they took the blindfolds off, I took your red cheeks for granted.

Then they shut the sun off once again and chained me to a neon cross,

Took a flamethrower to the first butterflies, burned them with the fresh moss.

Concrete squares as far as I can sense in my blind disbelief, or further.

My feet bleeding from their coffin nails, but this isn’t a murder.

This is my own mind throwing itself in a free fall, chanting “salvation”.

I’m pulling all the magician’s tricks to get back into narration.

The lock is too heavy and my wrists are too loud to play it by ear.

My hands tied behind my back, eyes covered

But I manage to let out a single tear.

-JW

High Towers

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Photo by Adrianna Calvo from Pexels

Bullet holes and bullet points scattered on grey brick walls for me to chant.

It’s either one or the other – the options are limited in the land of the grand.

The street corners are cynically empty – and doesn’t this simply prove the point?

“Leaving your walls is a disheartening happening one must always avoid.”

Sorry, that wasn’t me, another writing on bricks is broadcasting my shadows.

Would’ve shot the out of tune frequency in the heart but they took all my ammo.

The longer I search, the greyer these horizons become to my neon-bound imagination.

The more I dig up the clues, the more I’m convinced this heavy blood needs chelation.

High towers look down at me from across the sea when I reach the desired shore.

They pledge to protect me if I fight for a decade but I’m way too soar.

Cliffs let go of my feet as I’m pulled back to the streets washed with fine greed.

The echo chases me down yet misses by second, repeating the words:

“You must lead.”

Only once freed. Only once freed. Only once freed. Only once freed.

-JW

Blue Collar Trash Roots

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There’s a rush outside of this building, there’s a lively carnival playing.

Everyone who was enjoying my smiles no longer wants to be staying.

I understand how I’ve done them wrong by being my raging self.

Changed my skull thrice for their viewing pleasure into a heraldic delf.

The curtains are taped to the floor but I manage to shoot a single stare in.

Thousands of on-loop rebels cheering while white noise on earphones is blaring.

Eardrums collating their lack of skills in one washed out pantomime folk tale.

I pull on the curtain to fasten my blue collar trash roots in place like a forte.

There’s a rush outside of this building, there’s a lively carnival passing.

Everyone who left is better without me – jaywalking or trespassing.

-JW

Muted

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Photo by Cedric Lim Ah Tock from Pexels

And hell turned on its back and froze over to warn me about these betrayals.

The people you choose to trust might not always be those with good final portrayals.

Demons whispered in my ear but what scared me was – they spoke god’s truth.

I turned all seven locks tightly while weeping, then for a month I went mute.

They knocked on the doors to relieve the pressure, they said they’ll forgive.

How is one owed an apology if they cut me for pleasure, not to outlive?

Making sense of the poorly made spider webs made me never step out of my bed.

The quieter I lied there, the more I noticed that my friendships were poorly fed.

And the walls kept the sense of normalcy while everyone spiraled outside of the truth.

I turned all seven locks tightly while weeping,

I begged my senses to stay numb and mute.

-JW

Mace

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A foot in the door, I can’t keep the clashing spirits out.

The triad snarling at me, spitting droplets of bloody doubt.

Silver mannequins surrounding the building in heated crowds.

The glass moves in ultra-waves from the sound of their mouths.

Why don’t they listen, I’m not trying to leave this place!

I can’t control my fear hence I spiral like a mace.

But there’s always a thousand fists beating me back to the start –

Wherever I hide, they’re aiming and shooting a dart.

The doorknob is sinking my chest down to the holy ground.

Two feet in the door. There goes my shot at being unowned.

-JW

Tampered Heart

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Two-faced wolves in my best friend’s clothing.

I look through my pockets so I could stop choking.

Would a tithing help me make it through this round?

These predators are quiet and their silence makes a sound.

The morning is approaching with its hefty promise –

I run to the west, I rush towards the congress.

Here the sun raises later and betrayal never stings.

The wolves choke on rivals while others plead to kings.

Wire-Eyes zooming in as I fall down on my knees.

He’s been waiting for a chance to politely cease

The suffering this city pours onto tampered hearts,

And I’m his favorite because I never play it smart.

Disheartened I crawl in a corner, sit on the icy floor.

My best friends come rushing through the locked door.

Just two-faced wolves in my best friend’s clothing.

I look through my pockets so I could stop choking.

-JW