There is this fury I hide under pleasantries and visors,
It carries shipwrecks to its cave and eats the survivors.
The flame in its eyes burns with a charcoal black flame,
And no soul in this city can know its middle name.
The things it smashes and crumbles turn into ashes.
The grey particles stick to my trembling lashes.
Do not say the name, do not give it back the power.
All my fury knows is how to slay and devour.
-Jackie
Tables turn and fall down like leaves in the fall.
My knees beg me to crumble,
They beg me to crawl.
I light six black candles and let the wax melt.
I wonder whether love is built
And not really felt.
The horizon buries its mysteries too softly.
They find a way out,
Find new ways to mock me.
Nights turn on their faces and call it a day.
I still have enough spite,
I can make it through May.
-Jackie
When the hell freezes over you will give me your sympathies.
I will live on sharp tongues and through graceless eulogies.
Your plain white laughter will cover up the dark scene.
Someone will curse my demons.
No one will know what that means.
Once in a blue moon my ghost will recount the chances,
The thoughts will fall like snowflakes, forming avalanches.
Was the loud river of your guilt truly always this dry?
Would I meet one more spring if I did not give you a try?
-Jackie
I’m not sure I’ll make it through the final grater.
What if I lose this empty head seven pages later?
The main hero of this tale has mastered deception,
And maybe one day I’ll know she is my reflection.
Today is not the day so I just pick up the pace,
Plaster cheerless smiles all over this darling face.
I see the cutting edges moving in the distance.
What if I lose this story and no one ever listens?
-Jackie
You slipped the words in my pocket as the door was closing,
And I knew that the weight might pulverize my knees.
You tripped me up, then painted indigo thoughts rosy,
And a chuckle spread across the city like a disease.
I took the words and dripped velvet thoughts around them,
Knowing all too well that tomorrow they might be gone.
Even if it is true, even if I bleed out like a fountain,
I still get to cuddle your confession until the dawn.
-Jackie
What is the point of fleeing this ship?
I can take someone’s joy and live with it,
So, tell me –
What is the point of escaping?
Seven wounds on my back,
Seven battles in the making.
I heave from the weight put on my shoulders.
I keep breaking backs,
Keep growing bolder.
What is the point of going home?
My palms try to grip the dying foam,
And I know these moments must be fleeting.
So, honey, what is the point of fleeing?
-Jackie
I dream about boats crossing stormy oceans
Filled with lust driven poets seeking their deaths.
I reach for the salty breezes like a child,
And there is no one to stop these future regrets.
Waves crush over heads and crush our bones.
I worry that this story will end in a scene.
Barrells float in the air like spellbound birds
As the sky vomits colors, purple and green.
-Jackie
Why does falling in love feel like photographing ghosts?
Why does it feel like chasing after translucent clues?
I have no proof, just a sad demeanor and joyless toasts.
Maybe the pain will go if I turn on the local news.
Why does the iridescent sheen in my eyes drip water?
I could write a hundred endings, but I crave just one.
My skull will let me fall, yet it will not let me barter.
I can make my excuses,
The fate has already won.
-Jackie
Paramours could not sweep me off my feet.
I was too busy chasing empty love.
Too busy to see what was hidden underneath,
Too proud to admit what I didn’t know.
Nothing has changed, I still stand tall,
And my heels are agents of disarray.
My loneliness burns down churches and malls,
Leaving devotees there to sulk and pray.
-Jackie
I wish I could tell you a tale, but now it is all just a blur.
Finding my old self was much harder than losing her.
The roads I took still wait for me to pay them back.
I wonder if they will curse my spite and my hidden tracks.
Months pass and I stay glued to a screen at midnight,
Trying to overrule my thoughts, so tranquil and benign.
I know that she is still out there dripping paint on paper,
And I wish I could remember,
But my memory wavers.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 