Onward To Your Demise – Kindra M. Austin

Run through the labyrinth

That you created in me

One I now control

Big Government

Beast at your heels

Death in your face

So run run for your life

Onward to your demise

Run through my jungle

Hot and humid

Run through prayers

Run through bullets

Run down hide away

Baby but I will find you

Eventual pieces you will be

Littered upon razed rain forest floor

Wet red and chewed flesh mangled

 


[Kindra M. Austin is an author (information on her book can be found here), artist, and contributing editor and writer for The Bridge Magazine, as well as a fucking valkyrie Sagittarius. She can be found filing through the souls of the slain at poems and paragraphs.]

Introducing Kindra M. Austin:

THE ARCHER AND THE SCORPION

I found a photo of us, eight years old, stored in my ‘sent messages.’ We’re sat at Tokyo smoking a cigarillo, looking utterly chuffed with ourselves. I thought I had destroyed all evidence of the Archer and the Scorpion union. Goddamn, darling, we made a fucking stunning couple when we stepped out dressed in gangster black, and with a dirty day drink buzz-on. But we were stunninger in the dark, when you worshipped at Church of Me; your platform bed served well as altar. 2 a.m. moon soaked Liturgy, my sweet heathen, you were no atheist sheathed in my silk.

 


 

[Kindra M. Austin is an author (information on her book can be found here), artist, and contributing editor and writer for The Bridge Magazine, as well as a fucking valkyrie Sagittarius. She can be found filing through the souls of the slain at poems and paragraphs.]

A Call For Revolution

Kindra M. Austin

Kindra M. Austin

I was born a breeze, blue sharp

and breaking Sunday glassware–

social refinement

is over-rated

when innocent blood is spilled

in the name of Peace.

What peace? Fundraisers are crooks.

Uppity mother fuckers

dress up in laurels.

It’s the regular people

who give an actual fuck.

When will real America embrace the fact that we outnumber our politicians? 

View original post

The Weyward Sisters: Back to Black/ Collaborative Amy Winehouse Tribute

Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

Oh, Amy

Whenever I go walking

In my stilettos,

I hear you talking.

Dream me up a way

Of swishing my hips

And pursing my lips

And singing your riffs

So that I find beauty

Like you.

lois e. linkens

she puts her black dress on
in the dark,
anxious nails red and messy
in their early-morning artistry.
he left the candle burning
in the winter window –
vanilla and cinnamon
on a Sunday evening,
tears and vodka
on a Monday morning.
last week’s relief
breathes
into tonight’s regrets,
but the shadowy smear
on the glass
is all that is left of him.

Aakriti Kuntal/Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Rummaging through

black air,

nauseous red nails bearing oily seas

Suffocating

existence with conversations,

conversations

with glittering nail cutters,

cracked moons

laughing hysterically in them

Conversations

of fallen boyfriends, of fallen love

Fallen being

the new being

Aurora Phoenix/Insight From Inside

She scrawls lines

up the back of her fishnet stockings

wiggly-lined intoxicated rebellion

strutting down memory lane

flirting shamelessly with self-destruction

as if, in seductive self-abasement

she may reclaim

love from a wayward lover

and from self

Kindra M. Austin

Kohl black kitty cat

Eyes

Lines stiletto sharp

Tongue dipped in honey

Wine(house), oh, Amy

Slay me

Rachel Finch/Bruised But Not Broken

Night chimes, a ringing to remind her,

She can sleep the day away, but the dark

still draws the Soul from the body.

Stars reflecting off bottles, empty, their

contents alive in her throat.

She is midnight, waking the world.

Sarah Doughty/Heartstring Eulogies

I remember how you carried your beauty like body armor, letting the world see a smoke screen, that many didn’t notice. I remember seeing the sadness beneath those wings on your eyes, the way your mouth curled into a devilish smile. I remember seeing your hair down, with those curls that lasted for miles, and how much I wanted just a tiny piece of your beauty. Your essence. Even a little piece of your ability to hold the world in bated breath. I remember your courage to stand in front of a million people and hold them under your spell. But what I remember the most is how you wore your heart on the outside and how pieces of it were broken away and lost over time, exposing you. Like a nerve within a broken tooth, you tried to insulate, but nothing could fix what you’d already lost.

1WiseWoman/A Lion Sleeps in the Heart of the Brave

Hiding in plain sight

Black song bird

Aching to be heard

Darker than the darkest shadows

Praying sacrificial hymns

Will carry away your demons

Hungry hearts rapture in melody

Enchanted with your euphony

An intentional symphony

Desperate on bended knee

Longing to be set free

Blood and wine

Cherry lipstick stains

Broken bottles

Crooked lines

Sing for us

One last time

Zelda Raville/A Sea of Illusions

Our biggest tragedy
was that
our love,
no matter
how much
there was of it
could never
draw you out
from a fatal attraction
to the depths
of your ferocious hunger
for love itself.

Christine Ray/Brave and Reckless

You shot across our heavens

a piercing silver whiskey light

your pain-soaked voice

etching a pin-up girl tattoo on our souls

We died a hundred times with you

Donning our mourning colors

we are left to only say goodbye with words

as your heartbreaking beauty

fades into black

005-amy-winehouse-theredlist

I Am Mine/Kindra M. Austin

Kindra M. Austin

pexels-photo-107921

I decorated

Jesus of mine, once you were

lean, hawk-eyed, and just

what I needed to survive

this life with you, without you

I decorated

myself, your fine laurels mine

struggle to dictate your law

less the presence of Jesus

and, Dad, I often

wonder how you have the nerve

to clap yourself on

the back for a job well done 

View original post

Moon Ate the Dark Challenge: Kindra M. Austin/There Was a Full Moon

Kindra M. Austin

Brave and Reckless

Inkblot black canvas

Sky, static, supine

To needle and thread;

Flat-felled seam,

The stars are all dead.

So sing, heartstrings, and

Chant dirges, solemn;

Lo, the funeral

March does march and will

Soon march for us all.

Dread step to altar

With rosary beads;

Pray, but beseech whom?

Penitence won’t save–

God is locked in tomb.

White spectre does rise,

Corpulent, and cruel;

Satellite low-slung,

Beneath her sharp light

Many men have hung

In the precious name

Of righteous justice—

In the name of He.

Now they shall lose the

One they cannot see.

There was a full moon.

And moon ate the dark; 

Eclipsed the Heavens.   


Kindra M. Austin is a self-published fiction author, and a writer/Contributing Editor for The Bridge Magazine online. You can read her poems and prose at https://poemsandparagraphs.wordpress.com/ and articles at http://thebridgemag.com/.

View original post