Baby, I’m So Cold – Kindra M. Austin


You don’t know what love is at noon o’clock on
Tuesday, when I tell you I’m so cold that I can’t even
fucking feel it
anymore, expect for
inside—just inside the doorway where
my walls still quake with a singular mind
not mine, but theirs.

And you can’t tell the difference,
like my stupid cunt
can’t tell the
difference ‘tween
pleasure and affection.

you gotta get home cos she is waiting cos
your home is her home,
I got no type of home worth

I don’t know what love is at midnight o’clock on
Wednesday, when I answer your call—
I’m so fucking cold that I can’t feel it

Kindra M. Austin is a very sweary indie author and editor from mid-Michigan (you can find her books here). She’s also the co-founder of Blank Paper Press, a founding member of Indie Blu(e) Publishing, founder of publishing imprint, One for Sorrow, and a writer/managing editor at Blood into Ink, and Whisper and the Roar. Austin cut her poetry teeth in April, 2016, and joined the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective in 2017. You can find more of her foul mouth at poems and paragraphs.

31 thoughts on “Baby, I’m So Cold – Kindra M. Austin

  1. A profound piece, it really hits home, I remember being with someone who used to be everything to me, and just picking up my phone and jotting down a memo that said “wherever we are, it’s so fucking cold”. Your piece reminded me of that.



    She had been faithful to no one for six years.

    Then she met the man who matched her

    Brain and body.

    All was well until she offered her greatest gift,


    He did not reciprocate.

    Needed time to contemplate.

    Three weeks, three months, six.

    Time enough for lover’s tricks.

    Love reduced to an installment plan.

    She felt she was an organ donor.

    Preferred that to perennial loner.

    Her heart was proffered but removed, to a

    Jar of something crude.

    He wanted the beats, but the connections were questionable.

    Always another available soon.fresher, younger, more malleable.

    Too much love smashing, supplies abundant organs. Always for him, the

    Bank is full.

    from the book FURROW by Weitzer, available on amazon.



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