Tag: writer

Light breeze shuffles around the pages on my desk.

I hold onto these walls, hoping for a moment of rest.

Slight ease pours into me from the dripping ceiling,

And I know I am alone, but I cannot shake the feeling.

The wooden floor twists in agony as I start to speak.

“Destiny is for the winners, free will – for the weak.”

Smooth and elegant shards slide on my pale skin.

No matter where I go, my past will prick me like a pin.

Its menacing gaze will follow me to the riverbed,

As I sink deeper, it will paint the blue waters red.

I must put the feeling on a page, but the pen is heavy.

I would burn down the house, but it does not let me.

Light breeze shuffles around the thoughts in my skull.

Life runs at me in bright flashes, but they taste dull.

Heavy breaths pour out of my throat and my heart.

The weight of my past collapses like a house of cards.

-Jackie

Faulty threads cut themselves into two under pressure.

One day I looked back at the two of us,

And there was nothing left to cherish or treasure.

You cite self-sabotage as the exit shouts your name.

One day it will feel like a paper cut,

And the battles we faced will feel like childish games.

But today I am turning my back to you until it bleeds.

The blades in your tears only cut so deep,

And every broken craving has to grow from a seed.

Faulty threads snap into two after my cold rejection.

You were my North Star back in the day,

Now I hide my repulsion in some light affection.

You tell me that red revenge runs in my boiling veins.

Darling, maybe you are right this time,

Perhaps it is my fury’s time to reign.

-Jackie

When the leaves behind me stop singing their song,

I will take the final step into this cursed forest.

Some cold shivers run marathons on my skin,

But I am on the path to take back what was promised.

The lights in the distance hum in hushed tones,

And crows look hungrily at my shiny eyes.

A moment more, and I will walk down the hill.

A moment more, and I will say my goodbyes.

The sharpened memories press against my skull

As my consciousness leaps across the greying clouds.

With one quick move of the fist, I kill it gently.

I must get going,

I must bury his shrouds.

-Jackie

Remind me, friend, what was it that you whispered?

What was it that you said when our hatred got christened?

You called me a truth spinner, a spinster, a sinner,

A cheaper copy of your dreams who skips her dinner.

Remind me, friend, how much did I weigh you down?

Was it you who got perished from this old town?

You called me a traitor, a tailor of rigged fairytales,

A green-eyed snake with three thorns in its tail.

So, remind me, friend, why does my voice matter?

Why does it gain worth when your hopes get shattered?

You called me a saint who is too vain to pray,

A haunted soul being hunted by its own prey.

Now you call me every evening, you call me a friend.

I am still in pieces, but you want to make amends.

Go and find your closure in someone else’s head.

Trust is the one thing I do not raise from the dead.

-Jackie

Their teeth hurt me just a little,

I let the bite linger for a moment too long.

My backbone is curved, it is brittle,

But they have known this all along.

They leave red marks on my back,

Then call them self-inflicted wounds.

Some say you get what you attract,

Yet my bones feel like deflated balloons.

Their sentences hold little sense.

Nevertheless, I follow them to the end.

They burned my books, they took my pens,

Now I call this empty room my friend.

-Jackie

They never expect me to spit back the venom.

My disguise is so convincing they lose their heads.

When the push comes to shove, I quit pretending.

“It is your time to lie if you have made your bed.”

They parade me around the streets like some jewelry,

Then drop me in the sink and coat me in toothpaste.

My thoughts and feelings do not fit into the scenery,

And behind my back they call me a true waste.

But in my world payback is not a dull weapon,

You cannot fix wounds with some green and a smile.

In my world it does not matter who you threaten.

It only matters if you can swim in your own bile.

-Jackie

All my stomach has seen for three days now is water,

A little bit of coke and a prayer to the fathers.

I feel prepared to fight gods that are yet to rule,

But they might be too frightened to battle a fool.

My limbs dangle in midair like I’m under a spell,

My body is crushed under phrases like “sex sells”.

There is an inkling that this ride is going off tracks.

One more mistake and they’ll want their money back.

My sleep is lost on my constant savior complex.

I wish I had a button that makes me more clueless.

Still, I obsess over narratives I did not even birth,

And I pace around the room to hide my hurt.

My head spins from the neon facades the others build.

It seems that when they speak every seat is filled.

I wish I could run faster, but I might outrun my sanity.

Perhaps this path is a testament to my mortality.

-Jackie