I can’t drive past a dead animal splayed and stinking on the side of the road in the summer heat without thinking of you. The tang you’d left behind inside your apartment is no different than a fucking stupid deer, rotting; we’re all animals, after all. The similarity is incredibly depressing. Makes my mind wander into the macabre. I can’t help but envision you hanged upside down and sliced open in some hillbilly pole barn with your entrails falling from your middle, and plunking into an orange Home Depot bucket.

I scold myself aloud: Don’t think about that!

I can’t help it. Intrusive Thoughts are a part of O.C.D.

You never knew that I live with this condition, and I’m glad I never told you. You had enough to worry about; you weren’t mentally equipped to handle this sickness that colors me dreadful.


© Kindra M. Austin

(image: DeviantArt)




came begging again

at my doorstep; I turned him

away. Got no use for gods at play.

Too much decease has grown me up.

I am weeds, immune to

disease, and I only live

in order to survive.

But to what end?

So questions


mine. Depression

is the paparazzi—

always trying to catch

me crazy, display me

for eyes, judgmental.

Mental Health Care

is a one line joke.

I am weeds, and I

fucking choke

behind lips




© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Pinterest)




a collaborative poem by Braeden Michaels  and Kindra M. Austin


Overflowing drops of sadness

crash the grounds of reality 

Waves of anger and frustration 

soar through every vein 

Camouflaging the numbness 

wakens the frozen memories 

Slowly losing the crack of a smile 

shades of grey and black entwine  

A living ghost I am, alone—

all that is left of you

I talk in my sleep when I’m wide awake

In limbo I reach out to you,

my anchor in the fog 

Overflowing mourning bellows 

shattering the reflection in the mirror 

Staring into the depths of your selfishness 

stirring the darkest hurricanes

Consuming prescriptions of self-hatred 

scream at your tarnished soul 

Slowly your existence forever fades 

whirlwinds of chaos downpour into your loved ones  

A living ghost I am, alone—

evidence of your life

I keep together with special effects

And all I want is to touch you,

my anchor in the fog

Overflowing rain of melancholy 

drip into the silence of your grave 

Crumbled walls are now at your feet 

as clouds hang over your torn shadow 

Dwelling into your perfectionism 

dismantles your steel cage 

Slowly your wishes become true 

Your actions speak a thousand poems 

than the words you spoke alive  

A living ghost I am no more—

I’ll breathe for me and you

Laugh for me and you, love for me and you

But still, I want to hold you tight,

my anchor in the fog


image: DeviantArt

black italics *B. M.

indigo *K. M. A.