Tag: writer

My flesh is used to feeding on emotion that is not mine.

Every morning I replay a gruesome pantomime

Trying to make myself feel any love for who I was,

And every morning my spite puts on fresh rubber gloves.

There is no point in trying to stitch together my skin.

As soon as I heat up the needle, my soul turns paper thin.

I do not know how to move on or how to get better,

But I am certain that I cannot fix this curse with a letter.

Between therapists and nurses, and those who stayed,

I try to find just one person whose debts have been paid.

The more I look, the more I slip away from this reality,

But in these sweet moments I forget my own mortality.

So, my flesh keeps feeding on hurt that was never mine,

My brain keeps treating this avoidance like a damn crime.

Every night I howl at the moon until my voice breaks.

I have to make it to the morning, whatever it takes.

-Jackie

I am sitting alone in a distant corner of my skull,

Waiting for my brain to collapse like a great empire.

My market value is crashing, nearing a round null.

Is this truly that much better than the worst hellfire?

I have been living clean, and the purity blinds me.

The creatures in my chest will break my ribs soon.

Why does keeping myself intact feel this mighty?

One wrong move, and I will blow up the moon.

Watch me ruin the mood with my constant sulking.

I know you all get tired of my dark fantasies.

Still, my shoulders are headless, they need a new king,

And what’s left of my brain despises modesty.

There is meaning lost in every line that I write,

But I do not hope that someone really seeks it.

I sit and observe as my brain is consumed by light,

Secretly wishing that the darkness beats it.

-Jackie

Let me walk the path covered in gilded leaves,

Let me go, but not before midnight.

We can live the dream if we count to three,

And if we miss, we still have this joyride.

I gently pull my head out of the clouds,

Trying to shake off the morning mist.

My quiet thoughts arrive unannounced,

And I try, but I cannot resist.

Let me walk the empty road alone this time,

Let me go, but not before midnight.

We can shoot for the moon for less than a dime,

And if we miss, you will have your whole life.

Do not worry about me, leave it behind.

I am a scratched record ready to be burned.

Go on and pass greetings to your own kind.

Tell them that I never learned.

-Jackie

I wish people knew how to pronounce my name,

But I suspect they won’t learn until it’s written on a grave.

My sense of humor tickles their throats with feathers.

They’ll never admit it, and I’ll never know any better.

My grey matter turns into sequins when I dance.

I think I’ve missed a dozen shots at a real romance.

All I know is how to spend cash on quick satisfactions.

I don’t remember my last real human interaction.

The green in my wallet still can’t buy me respect,

And people on the screens ask – what did you expect?

I wish I was a real clown so I could run this circus,

But I guess they’ll strangle me before I find my purpose.

-Jackie

The dust of my hometown is locked in my bones,

That place cries for my skeleton, tells me I’m alone.

I’ve been trying to see straight, but the world is a prism.

Welcome twenty first century exorcism.

The shadows keep looking over both of my shoulders.

I trust when they say that my past smolders.

These days simply breathing feel like a punishment.

My status is stained, but I just keep on polishing.

God talks to me, saying he will exercise my demons,

But those bastards will give him the Olympic treatment.

They’ll run miles around him until he is imprisoned.

Welcome twenty first century exorcism.

-Jackie