Tag: writer

When The Scars Turn Into Wounds Again

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You can smell my blood when I bleed on another operating table.

I feel it – how your eyes change shade, how you call me ungrateful.

As I am allowing another man to cut out my ego like it is a tumor,

You break cathedral glass, killing every spirit who spreads the rumors.

When my blood drips down the drain after yet another procedure,

I know that the humming coming from my anesthetic mind feeds you.

You are locked away behind your stained glass and silver crosses,

But you will survive if you cannot count me as one of your losses.

And when the scars turn into wounds again, I will seek you out.

You will waste your voice on my towering insecurities…

Still, I will enjoy the sound.

-JW

Count To Four

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My shoulders ache from carrying your cross.

I wish the devil bit my tongue when I said –

Honey, I need you the most.

The beaming Sahara sun drains me of hope.

We were young and dripping in red,

Now you are passing me the rope.

All my toes are bleeding on the pavement.

The memory seems to fade,

Then it breaks my neck as a statement.

I cannot recognize my own hands anymore.

They are now made of pure led.

Honey, run before I count to four.

-JW

Note #205

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You watched me falling over the edge,

You watched me disappearing into the dark.

My heart hardened as I crossed the ridge.

Don’t reach out your hands, don’t wait for a spark.

I landed on a lonely rugged surface.

I painted my lavender sky with charcoal and soot.

Your aluminum chains gave me hospice,

But don’t sentence me to another year of rot.

-JW

The Winter Was Unavoidable

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The early autumn air showers me with its seamless elegance.

My palms are in your coat pockets

As my words lose their relevance.

The first leaves are turning yellow, just like when we first met.

I wonder if you remember,

I hope that you cannot forget.

Sometimes I look into your eyes and feel this wave of sonder.

You have been holding on,

But we do not get any younger.

And the early autumn air turns into frost on our worst nights.

I promised to carry the cross,

I swore I would lose the fights.

The last leaves are falling down my neck as I lie in wait.

My palms crumble a letter.

We both know it is too late.

-JW

Towards The Ledge

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The fragility of my fists plays with my own immortality.

My spinning head survives on promised immoralities,

And if I keep up the pace, I will persevere, I will push through.

My tongue is made of fire, my will is made of glue.

No, I do not let ignorant men block my paths.

I am seeking a destiny that outruns reason and fact.

If my feet could keep up, they would take me to the place.

But no one sees it, they offer me to leave with grace.

Still, I have no grace, only sharp corners made of iron.

My lips are light-years ahead when it comes to firing.

I shoot everyone who does not keep the final pledge

While not noticing that I am headed towards the ledge.

-JW

My Curse

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Do you know what my nothingness tastes like?

It pushes my head under water until it is ripe.

The empty feeling cuts off my hair with scissors,

It pulls on my sleeve until I see vivid visions.

Some gray creatures climb in my fragile chest.

The static goes cold, and I leave out all the rest.

Bright red snowflakes land on my lucid irises,

They drip scarlet into my dearest promises.

Can you imagine what my nothingness tastes like?

I keep drowning as they tell me it is alright.

But the complete abandonment never sinks in.

It is my curse, treating my sanity like a sin.

-JW

Take My Guilt As A Deposit

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There’s always at least one storm brewing in the distance, and I keep it that way.

Trouble seems to find me too easily, so I only wish for just one more day.

But unless I see the dark clouds forming by the horizon, I cannot go on.

The horror is like music to my ears, and I cannot help but sing the song.

They call me a masochist when it comes to proving everyone else wrong.

I see the correlation and I don’t fight it; I’ve nurtured it all summer long.

The shadow creature within my chest keeps feeding on uncertainties.

It never controls me, no, it only gets fed when I do as I please.

When it comes to self-sabotage, I’ve never met anyone quite like me.

I’m the perfect tirage – they taste the wine, then destroy my psyche.

There’s a storm in the distance, there always is, and they say I cause it.

Trouble seeks me out in the darkest of places, takes my guilt as a deposit.

-JW

Forgiveness

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My axis spins around me whenever I drift away in my own thoughts.

The desire for life mixes with the last echoes of death,

And I forgive all the insecurities I once fought.

The sky stays still, it makes everything look easy, almost seamless.

I dream about my childhood, but nothing seems right,

Almost like I have always been Satan’s mistress.

The voices in my head make me scream from the steepest hillside.

All the energy I lose on petty things always comes back,

It burns alive in my chest, it stays inside.

And the pain doubles in size whenever someone dismisses my cries.

My axis obediently bends to the rising ocean waves,

And I forgive all of you who never apologized.

-JW

No Proof

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The lingering ghosts from my past are so faded,

I can barely prove they were ever really here.

The same goes for me and the lives I’ve traded.

Some say they only see me when I disappear.

But don’t you underestimate my caution,

The flame in my lungs hides an honest scream.

They told you I can never stop being in motion.

They didn’t tell you that I’m stuck in a dream.

This loop is a cruel beast, this loop is endless,

But I still follow it, hoping to escape the ghouls.

Their cloaks make me too weak and defenseless.

It’s killing me but there’s no goddamn proof.

-JW