Crow Black and Cardinal Red Kindra M. Austin & Matthew Eayre

Of explosive mourning is born the night
rising low in my rib cage
Obsidian heart cooling in its crate,
cold enough to freeze the devils in
hell
Usurp the king’s wings, crow black and cruel,
This is my coronation day

Raucous laughter celebrates the coming dawn
falling gently upon my brow
Scarlet song issuing from opened chest,
warm enough to thaw glaciers under oceans
Wrest away throne of bone, cardinal red and salacious,
This is my exaltation

I’ve got worms in my veins,
fertilizing melancholy
Holy blood boils
over
bone and sinew
See what love has left me

Rows of nightshade
line my grave as I burrow
homeward
guarding from paradise
my hands dig for solitude

All gone suddenly,
swallowed by big nothing,
they’re buried within the
layers of my skin—
the women I’d adored
like red soaked wool itching my soul,
maddened

My attention brings pain, my adoration
sorrowful suffering
the pieces of my life
wrapped in coddling clothes and
funeral shrouds, held in hands
too strong to let go

© Kindra M. Austin/Matthew Eayre

(image by diagonite on Newgrounds.com)


Kindra M. Austin is an indie author (her books can be found here, a founding member of Indie Blu(e), and a writer/managing editor at Sudden Denouement, Blood Into Ink, and Whisper and the Roar. A Sagittarius Valkyrie from the state of Michigan, she likes craft beer, and classic big block muscle cars. You can find her filing through the souls of the slain at poems and paragraphs.

Matthew D Eayre is recently planted in Houston, Texas and hoping to grow roots. A lifelong lover of words and language, he writes every chance he gets when not delivering smiles or spending time with his loving wife and family. Matthew has only one rule in life and in writing; it has to be real. He writes from personal experience about life, love and loss. He bridges the light spectrum from darkness to light, hoping that somewhere out there he reaches those who need to be reached. You can find more of his brilliant work on his site,  Uneven Streets Studiosand his Facebook page Poetry of Monsters

Sunbeam

S.K. Nicholas/A Journal For Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

hayes-potter-623799-unsplash

She closes her eyes, and for a second, she’s a butterfly dancing on the nose of a hungry dog. She’s a kid leaping into her father’s arms greedy for his embrace, and when he gives it to her, she squeals and kisses his neck as he lifts her high onto his shoulders so she’s a giant looking down on a world that will never be enough. Touching the clouds, she clutches them with both hands and tries her best to chew them like candy floss. She’s a bird on a wire. A sunbeam destined to shine too bright. Taking in a mouthful of air as the tingling in her toes fades the same as her visions, she reaches for her cigarettes and lights one without opening her eyes. The smoke makes her cough but when she sucks it down it makes her feel like one of those clouds. Thinking of…

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Get Up

Sarah Doughty/Heartstring Eulogies

Heartstring Eulogies

“It is okay to break.
Just don’t stay that way.”

Sometimes breaking can be beautiful. Powerful. Like a wildfire blazing across the horizon. There’s destruction, but there’s colors. There’s smoke. And ruin. It’s not your fault for being this way. It’s not your fault for burning to the ground, or shattering like a mirror. It’s not your fault for grieving what you’ve lost. It’s okay to break. As long as you can put yourself back together and stand back up. You are needed. You are loved. And nothing will hold you down. Don’t let life break you permanently.

So please, get back up and keep fighting.

© Sarah Doughty

It’s okay to break.
Just don’t give up.

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I Breathe Still

Kindra M. Austin/Poems & Paragraphs

nocaGL.jpg

For a minute or more, I was dead as you,

as you were technically dead

before the end was absolute—

before your brain conceded.

For a minute or more, my world was edged in blossoming dark,

engrossing, on the cusp of consent.

Blackbirds congregated, chattered ‘round my head, and

they called dibs on my vital organs—

heart, liver, kidneys, and lungs.

One expressed explicit interest in

my spleen—

keen student of human anatomy,

morbid corvid.

Then a cardinal came with your breath on its wings,

and I breathed.

I just breathed.

I breathe still…

© Kindra M. Austin

image: Houston Audubon

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Even the darkness

Allie Nelson/Dances with Tricksters

Dances with Tricksters

Even the darkness has arms, girl.

You curl up in the lap of death for solace,

Seeking shelter in decay, but for a moment’s rest.

There is no truth but worms under rot, that great goddess of the frozen wastes.

Death only takes the face of a lover, and Hell is but a whispered promise.

You will burn for him, break open like a wine casket, brains bleeding.

Can’t you see you are just food for the black hole at the center of our galaxy?

Can’t you see you were laid out as a feast for the gods to summon rains?

Maybe you crave oblivion because that is the closest you will ever come to freedom.

You are brave, girl, to beg the case of the world before the great arbiter Death.

I gave up a long time ago.

I do not own my life anymore, and maybe I secretly…

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in OTOLITHS (AUS)

David Lohrey/WRITINGS, MUSINGS, POETRY

WRITINGS, MUSINGS, POETRY

otoliths

a magazine of many e-things

David Lohrey

The Other Is Oneself

Is there anyone home? We are here
to end all human suffering. We have come
for the tyrant. In the end, he will be stabbed
in the rectum with a bayonet. There should be
no profit in profiteering. In the future,
nothing will be owned except for human beings.

Take the Kabuki underground
to the end of the line.
Paranoia is its own species of adrenaline.
The party is deductible.
Sing a song, make it simple.
We all obey kings in matters that are reprehensible.

All roads lead to St. Louis. There
we must take our lessons; there
we will learn to meow. There will be war
if someone’s taken my copy of “Set for Life.”
I haven’t had a chance to glance through it. Mexican
gangsters rape their prisoners with daggers.

If you will allow me to…

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grown up

Kristiana Reed/My Screaming Twenties

My Screaming Twenties

I’ll be honest

when I said the words

grown up

aged thirteen

I didn’t see

a tub of ice cream,

crying

and sitting in the dark

listening to the sky

opening.

I didn’t think

I’d become

a rom-com movie,

the kind you see

on late night TV –

hopeless romantic,

console me

with a cup of tea.

I didn’t know

love and living

could hurt this much,

I’d prefer bees

butterflies

pretty flowers

and my hay fever

eyes to remind me

to breathe,

not this

tight chest,

I’m on my knees,

help me.

When I said

the words

grown up

I didn’t realise

I meant to say

I’ve got wells for eyes

except I’ve cut all the rope

to the buckets.

I’ve got rootless flowers

for hands, so when the rain comes,

torrential or trickle,

I fail to keep it. 

I’ve got a stained glass

mirror heart, 

except every pane…

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