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 Jul 2014 Q
Austin Heath
"Dixxon."
 Jul 2014 Q
Austin Heath
So I had to put some effort into
finding things I regret these days,
but it wasn't too hard coming from
a bitter mindset.
Come to think of it,
I regret many years of my life,
even if I don't regret the people.
Sincerely wish that wasn't the case,
but whatever, right?
Pour me another glass of anything,
I think I'm drinking anticoagulants
these days, but remembering
is so **** painful,
I forget...
The numbers on these pencils,
so I switched to ink;
Now I cover up the mistakes
I used to erase.
Now when you call me
I don't answer quite
the same way I used to.
Now when people look
for me, they find me lost
or wandering somewhere
I really shouldn't be.
Sitting in living rooms
with pictures of people
who aren't smiling.
Fix me a drink!
No, fix the one in my hands,
or the one in the back of my
skull.
"Fix something already",
he said, comprehending
the wounds were indeed
fatal already, yet eventually.
Regret is a poison  you drink with with your mind. You won't be a happy drunk.
 Jul 2014 Q
Austin Heath
Wake up in the morning with
a chip on your shoulder;
like a **** in a serial killer-
someone's going to learn the truth
if you keep dripping.
Trading in your old records
for something new,
you felt the urge to scream
right as they cut to commercial break.
The price of a commodity
becomes outweighed by it's crowd
How truth is like Starbucks.
The metaphysical quality of truth
you seek/ want to burn between
your fingers isn't even
the worst document you've
cleansed from their eyes.
When they learn you,
they're going to tear you apart.
Don't forget.
 Jun 2014 Q
Austin Heath
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you,
or want to believe themselves strange,
eclectic, or odd.
It's vaguely disgusting to me,
cringeworthy in a mild degree.
We think we're so different,
but we are not.
The individualism of people
should be and is comparable
to the individualism of ants.
Who looks at the anthill and
sees something in particular,
something behaving specifically
"uniquely"
from every ant and every anthill?
Why do you believe in yourself?
I see this, as a conversation about
depression, and your partner
does not respect you
but instead wants to
tell you how they feel worse,
or have it worse, or "understand" more
about the affirmation or situation.
A person looking for individuality
through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness,
is truly alone in their minds, and missing the
reality that these depressions exist without them.
The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack,
or an offense to these people, because it says
"you are not as unique as you think",
it strips them of their identity and individuality.
This is true of many ideologies and affirmations.
I quit individuality, this constricting sense
of holding everything of yourself in center,
to be a drop in the whole, something fluid.
If you split your affirmations from yourself,
you'd see we're all the same;
Affirmations are just currents in the ocean.
I look at myself; and people see a man,
a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician.
As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions,
[especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze]
which hardly, if ever, are true,
but as affirmations, when I consent to using them,
these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me,
but similarities that I realize
I can embrace or shut out in others.
Affirmations do not make me more unique,
but similar to more people.
If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center,
my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning.
This is why I quit Individuality.
 Jun 2014 Q
wes parham
To be strong,
You suppress emotions.

I revel in them.
Just a concept I'm rolling around in other drafts.
(Update: the draft has been released  )
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/745457/points-of-departure/
 Jun 2014 Q
Austin Heath
You are bad weather and
lightning striking for the second time
on a single target.
You are an illness,
a sore that never goes away.
You ruin things.
You ruin everything.
Even when you try to ruin one thing,
you mess that up and ruin another.
*******, it's a black comedy
and nobody can win it;
nobody can smile here.
Yeah, sure, you can't sleep tight in
your moral blankets, but can you
dance a two step holding onto
nothing but the skeletons in your closet?
I won't be grateful for anything now-
I won't be waiting anymore,
I can't keep up anymore,
not like this. If madness couldn't
keep it in place, now I'll wear sanity
and be all the more psychopathic for it.
You are as you are
and everything else
just exists, doesn't it?
 Jun 2014 Q
Stella Gamber
bdsm.
 Jun 2014 Q
Stella Gamber
Be cruel,
I am not as
delicate as
I may seem,

I want you
to hate me,

my porcelain
eyes scream,
'hurt me, hurt
me, hurt me,’

beat me, break
me, bruise me,

wear me out,

teach me a
******* lesson,
because I can’t
learn a thing
otherwise.

- S.G.
 Jun 2014 Q
Austin Heath
I've ****** it up, I've tried
to rearrange the order,
or cut the syllables symmetrically.
I've only showed you the worst
I've got to offer.
Wanted to help,
but
when I was traveling
a syringe tainted
complex or sleeping
where the roof
caved in and
drip,
drip,
dripped next to
my head;
I've known it too.
Cut me out, it's my fault,
my feet hit the pavement
like a cliche. Everything's a cliche.
Complex sleeping.
Everything is elusive and dark,
and slippery and larger than
life. Some nights I almost cry.
 Jun 2014 Q
Austin Heath
"Walk my eggshells?" I drool like a dog,
something you're eager to **** with
and dispose of.
I should walk your eggshells
like a minefield in first
world countries?
Mold on your fruits of love or labor,
yet I eat like ******* swine,
aftermath; no hope or sense of self,
**** my sense of identity senseless,
since September still yet towards
another fake continent or mass
of fictional places.
Stuffed back into a box and strangled,
slept next to the coffin he was buried in.
Didn't find it poignant until eight
weeks later washing dishes
for a Latverian dictator.
Google took the teeth out of the search,
and the hand that fed was gummed.
You love the rain till you're stuck in it.
You love escape till you have no home.
You love what you can abuse
and still take home;
Violet on your skin,
Violet on my mind,
Violet for a dream,
Violet for a name,
Violet in my blood,
Violet on my toes,
Violet as a drug,
Violet as an insect
you eat in private,
Violet as violet as violet
as a tautology,
or addictive prescription.
Once I had the leash on you,
now the sores have come back,
my knees and palms make
sick ******* with earth
I cough.
 Jun 2014 Q
Austin Heath
I'm chewing on my thumb
and listening to ice
crackle and hiss
as it deflates.
"Melts."
Once,
you were an
artist swearing your
mistakes were your genius.
Now you are locked in
place and waiting for
some monster in
a fishtank to
manifest,
but you mailed
your change to some
shady place in Wisconsin
you saw in an advertisement
in a comic book from the
seventies, or eighties.
You've gone mad.
Everything else
suffers for it
and you
can't
see.
 Jun 2014 Q
Sour
Red Moon
 Jun 2014 Q
Sour
Love is seeing you in the bottom of my coffee,
It's feeling a cigarette burn into my skin,
It's hearing your voice cracking in the branches of my trees,
It's watching the moon turn red in April and not being able to focus on the stars anymore,
It's staring into my drawers, feeling my fingernails scratching the wood looking for change,
Its licking a lit match,
And finding a golden dollar in your backyard under the sandbox,
It's getting in a car crash at 60 mph on a congested highway and never being able to drive again without thinking about hitting a concrete wall,
It's holding your ******* hand and your cold skin and knowing it has nothing but warmth underneath,
And its wanting to die before I hit thirty.
It's burning, it's certain, and it's haunting.
I'll never be without that.
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