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Thirsty for your riveting mind
Hungry for your luscious lips
Aching for your intoxicating skin
Thoughts of you deepen
The beast inside is locked

Replaying your hypnotizing voice
Dreams of you cause turmoil
Naked visions of you pull me in
Thoughts of you arouse me
The beast inside is rattled

Yearning for your words
Wishing for your touch
Daydreaming of your moans
Thoughts of you echo
The beast inside is starving for you

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Give me your golden heart

Give me your kindred spirit

Give me your bright light

Give me your forgiving soul

Give me your generosity

Give me your glass world

Give me your crying desert

Give me your precious wisdom

Give me your burning essence

Give me your tender heart beat

Give me your gentle words

Give me your beloved patience

Check out my books!

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All you do is spin in a circumference

All you do is dwell in a circus

And it all feels the same

All you do is throw away the compass

All you do is dance in this sphere

And it all feels the same

All you do is stumble in the fuzz

All you do is rewind and push play

And it all feels the same

All you do is gravitate to a cycle

All you do is remain who you are

And it all feels the same

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She’s dressed in compromise

with a splash of anaesthesia

Lost in the scars

She’s wreaking ruins

with a touch of benevolence

Tangled up in a mess

She’s covered up in scotch

with a hint of animalism

Disoriented in the haze

She’s cleansed in affection

with a pinch of pandemonium

Invisible to the

She’s laced in anarchy

with a shot of jangle and bedlam

Slipping in oblivion

She’s cauterizing affection

with roses in her palms

Scatterbrained colors

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I’m disappointed in myself as usual

I’m disappointed to reach for something I can not feel

I’m disappointed with my voice of truth

I’m disappointed in my ignorant silence

I’m disappointed with my points of view

I’m disappointed with my deceptive mind

I’m disappointed in the fool I can’t see

I’m disappointed that I couldn’t feel the needles puncture my skin

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I use to languish in the polygon of my weeping mind

I thirst for the fragments of my anguish to mold my center

I use to sulk inside myself and drink the wine of selfishness

I sunk my teeth into the dejection

I use to dwell in the camouflage and sink in my words

I swam in the black river under the oppression

I use to neglect faith and drown in the empty tear ducts

I fell into the depths of silence

I use to grieve in the awaken sadness and never sleep

I felt the last breath deceive me

I use to shed my dead skin in the morning to erase the gloomy nights

I carried a chain of misery

I use to gasp at the hollowness and gazed at the autograph

I refused to stare at the nemesis

I saw the signature and found it revolting

A transformation within shouted

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I kill myself to please the unappreciative

I kill myself to be the juggling act

Thank you for me leaving me in the corner

I kill myself to save you from the trenches

I kill myself to be something I’m not

Thank you for hanging me in the light

I kill myself to write the perfect script

I kill myself to grip onto the last prayer

Thank you for the cynical laugh

I kill myself to seek answers that don’t exist

I kill myself to satisfy all that you crave

Thank you for showing up to my funeral

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Woke up in the pitch black
Staring at the reality
Shackled with no hope
Barely crawling
Trying to move my tired body

Sounds of the sizzle
Shuffling of feet
Jameson walked down stairs
Scrambled eggs and bacon
glancing at my swollen eyes

“I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
A phrase that swam in my mind
over and over as I scarfed down grub
No time for drops of tears
No time for sadness
“I can’t stay in these clothes.”

Jameson paced like a rat
Imprints in his rattled mind
Struck a lonely frozen nerve
Nervousness and sweat blend
“I will get you clothes.”

Forgotten details befuddled him
Inside of me snickered
Ignited a circle of thoughts
Finally seeing a shadow
Outsmart the predator

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1/16 inch thin layers

Appealing to the saliva of the dogs

Overrated and shallow interiors

Claiming to be a superior

A rancid exterior to animals

Gritting my frustrated teeth

Recognizing a frivolous mind

Intellectually inept and blank

A lost Aardvark in the dessert

Shutting you off like a valve

Lacking the ability to digest

Mad at myself for allowing you in

A crawling fool on the inside

Seeking depth and connection

Seeing an overhyped individual

Check out my books!

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Before you

castrate me

Let me sew up

your cesspool

I’d rather hear

nails on a

chalkboard than

your satanic moans

see me, I’m a seamstress–

needle and thread

put away those bitch teeth

aching in your head


Before you

piss in my cornflakes

Let me shatter

and shred your

fake Barbie doll world

that lives in

my iconic kingdom

‘neath plastic skin

vinegar rivers–

acetic acid,

bitter


Before you

scream in my

volcanic ears

Let me watch

you cry as the

reality sinks deep

knowing no one

gives a shit

about your existence


I refuse to placate–

I’m the real deal

this is all your fault

to hell with how you feel


Kindra M. Austin ~ Italic Parts 

Braeden Michaels – Non Italic Parts

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Roses of transparent moments collide

I do a moist conversation in the horizon of the orange sky

I am drenched in sweat craving your magical words

I am lost in the softness of your mind

I float on lips of resurrection, I hang in the golden wax of your lotus body

I hang and you hold me like the dripping twists and turns on fold of my skin,

I disappear on Cupid’s pavement searching for your fragile soul

I inhale your breathless scars

I have counted pain, I have sustained and coloured my pain

I sip your honey in the chalice of my tongue

I embrace your canvas like an artist

I have fallen for your words like a ballerina

Your words strike paradise and pour a lump of seasons.

A travesty, tapestry, Titanic.

I am in awe of your twinkling perception

I cradle your warmth and stitches

As I take birth and die in the symmetry of your curve.

I am in reborn absorbing your divine essence

My words – Italics

My Valiant Soul – Non Italics

Check out My Valiant Soul blog. She is a brilliant writer and it was a pleasure to collaborate with her.

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The serpentine somnambulence of fire,
like a drop of a dragon, encapsulated in
pine kindling and smoking oak, the stone
fireplace watches her as she poems ink,
birthing galaxies on old parchment, and
as the flames grow, she sees sentences
dancing in the gold and orange, alight
muses nine of Apollo, burning just for her.

Under a catastrophic star he stares into the abyss of the flames. Forgotten love hibernates within the charcoal as he gazes at her lost wick. Castles drift in his mind as he wishes the blaze never died out. She stands in front of the tangerine edges seeing her soul be reignited.

There are bonds of ashes that settle like
the dust of an old book with intaglios of
her former lover in the flames, immolated,
she was a witch on a pyre for him, he was
gasoline poured onto her bonfire, and now
all that is left are dead nebulae and ghosts
of “I do.” She arises a phoenix, only to see
him, in the space between shadows, a ghost.

There are screams within the chandelier dreams. There are fires within the light, there is a glimpse of light in the flames. No matter where he turns, no matter where she rises, there will always be a breeze of ink. Hearts need to bleed, veins need to cry, and pages never fade. The gust of memories will live forevermore.

Dances with Tricksters – Italics

Braeden Michaels – Non Italics

It was a pleasure to collaborate with Allie. Please check out her blog!

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There’s a blue ball in the gutter
The willows weep amidst the oaks
Drunk street sweepers spreading trash in the air
Abandoned porch swings on hundred year old houses
Blackstrap molasses dripping from that window seal

The Post office is flooded with lost letters of love
The PTA is full of divorced housewives giving the acronym new meaning
The cathedral on 2nd street has been empty
for a decade
The minister can only preach on Sunday’s playing poker sipping on whiskey

Faded hopscotch in rundown school yards
Old man Beetle dressed to the nines for a walk to the donut shop
Laughing girls in pigtails tossing a coin in the fountain
That woman there sneaking a smoke behind the doctors office
What is that strange smell in the air

The asphalt has pot holes screaming murder
Stop signs blushing like lovers on the beach
57’ Chevy is chasing the rabid dog around the square
Rhinestone glasses waitress wins lottery goes broke in sixty seconds
And the pond on Summersby Lane has fish crooning Dean Martin

A police chase down Main st
Same story same time last week
Dirty little secrets of hit it and quit it
Who’s that the preachers wife driving on the wrong side of the street
It’s poison from the power plant on the edge of town

The crab apple tree has leaked mystique
On the bottom of Lake Plateau lives six dead men
And Butchers Field has dancing scarecrows
And the Barber Shop on 3rd Street has chatter that never ends

Peculiar feeling here
The sign at the homeless shelter has been blinking less for years
That house on the corner a double murder suicide
Swept under the rug in the police chiefs house
Don’t mind me I’m just the messenger

Crime rates doubled downtown
Not a dime or a fade penny on the streets
Too many ex lovers chugging medicine at Stella’s Bar
Not enough landscapes or rivers on this side of town
No one here sits on a porch gazing at the stars
Too many staring at the end of a bottle

Braeden – Italics

Stella – Non Italics

This was a fun collaboration with Stella! Check out her blog if you haven’t!

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Stumbling in and out
A blurry vision stuck in the corner
Moments ripped at the seams
Strangers on the edge of thirst

There was a rush
Some unspoken urgency
His alluring eyes dripped desire
Intoxicated with need

Thoughts unraveled
Urges climbing to the top
Animalistic hunger bitten
Senses enhanced

A throbbing pain
Engulfed her senses
Enthralled and smitten
By his glance

Intensity bursting
Hidden gliding hand
Slightly revealing
Inevitable attraction

Both were in trance
Captive in each other’s arms
Heaving and breathing
Forgetting all moral qualms

Deep thrusts of fire
Like a train in a tunnel
Torn clothes
Devouring velvet

Their night of passion
Met the break of dawn
They savored each moment
And moaned to climax

Braeden – Italics

Sakshi– Non Italics

Check out Sakshi’s blog if you haven’t!

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Swallowed chewed up

and toxic philosophies

Spreading recited

words of love from a pamphlet

All knowing man

A minister of a cult

Obtrusive and vile

A king in his tiny mind

Convicted of extortion

Dying alone in a cell

Knocking at the gates

Falling through a raging cloud

Welcome to ten thousand degrees