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Jul 2014 · 473
"Trash Everything."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Had a nightmare.
You invited me somewhere.
Left me behind.
I was screaming your name from the courtyard trying
to find you, and you didn't answer.
I destroyed some **** and finally ran into your room mate.
I asked her forcefully where you were,
then found you. You knew why I was ******.
Your friends said something,
so I smashed a glass pan against a wall
and asked them if I looked like I wanted to be ****** with.
I walked upstairs and a man put me in a grey straight jacket.
That feeling is still in me long after.
Nothing is resolved.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
4am and my eyes are killing me,
and I'm dull and sore and ****.
****. ****. ****. ****.

Leaning against an arcade booth
of Street Fighter 2 watching them
dance in green lazer lights.
We decided to go back to her friend's place.

Her friend got wine,
he got beer.
He ****** in the bushes.
Admitted he was drunk.

On the roof of her friend's apartment,
I ****** down a cold coffee,
and we played acoustic music.
We climbed higher on the roof.
They smoked and drank,
and just generally shot the ****.

Something bad happened between him and her;
she ran off crying, he's calling her a child, a baby.
He's pretending he's not mad,
pretending he's in control of his emotions
while lashing out.
Throws a beer bottle,
decides to leave. She
practically begs him for a ride home.
Me and her friend want so badly for her
to stay. Stay.
She leaves with him.
Drunk and ******, to drive her home.
I start walking home soon after.

I get lost on a street.
It's 2am and I'm jumping up and down
waving my hands, trying to get someone
to just tell me where I am.
A man across the street must be taking out garbage,
I walk across the street and say, "Excuse me sir?"
He shouts, "No! Go back across the street! NO!"
like I'm a ******* wild animal.
I ask him, "Can you just tell me where Bluestone is?"
He tells me to go north.
His input is useless.
I hope he dies of pancreatic cancer.

I kick a can and yell, "**** all of you, collectively!"
to the suburban nightmare I'm trapped in.
"I hope they nuke this ******* **** stain neighborhood!"
Kick an empty Arizona can in contempt and disgust.

I have a small monologue with myself
and almost break down on the sidewalk.

Walk back to practically where I came from,
and take the long way home.
On my way I pass a stranger who asks, "Dig?"
No ******* idea what they meant.
I dodge the skunks and grab a hubcap.
Wanted a trinket.
I think I'm gonna have a ******* aneurism.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Getting bitter,
not even for bitterness sake.
You keep picking that scab,
scratching that surface,
you'll never get to the blood of the matter.
4 am and who knows when or where  it ends-
****. Yes.
We just might not sleep tonight.
Paint it two shades darker and walk
with your head down.
Practically shameful,
or excellent in disguise.
Poised to strike;
Spat on someone's car yesterday.
10/10 would do again.
What leaps with teeth bare?
Jul 2014 · 504
"Thinning."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Your silhouette stains my memories;
the smell of alcohol and your breathe.

Your tacit acceptance doesn't illicit my
flaccid compliance, or silence.

I'm dying in front of you.
You weep.
Jul 2014 · 749
"Dragon."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
I'm so ******* lonely and
the dog is crying all the time.
I want to get **** faced
and **** a stranger.
I want to bare knuckle box
someone bigger than me.
I want to do something wrong.

I'm so ******* tired
I guess I'll stay up all night.
I can't do anything at all.
I'm gonna get a job and die,
or leave a scar on someone
or break some monument
of national pride.

Cauterize. Burn something
that leaves people in terror.
Awe-struck. Tired and lonely;
I want to take a wild swing
at anything or anyone.
****.

I want to be the blemish
on your mankind's
smiling face.
Jul 2014 · 626
"Fuck in the Bible."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Got money for *** and gambling,
but you're leaving your bills
on someone else's tab.
People are telling me to jump ship.
It's getting harder not to oblige.
I live in multiple states
of anxiety and depression,
ain't it grand?
No "God" here, no "God's will",
quit chittering your religion like
it's a ******* verb; wallowing
in filth, and next is misery.
I'm steadfast on sinking
in this **** already.
I'm still here.
Jul 2014 · 743
"the Miserable Creation."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
You never really frown,
but your face sinks like
the weight is still there.

Your eyes are just
dealing with it.

Shoulders bent forward.
Spine like a roller coaster.

Unkempt everything.

Practically dead;
a skeleton wrapped in
worn tissue.
Breathing ignites the dull
pain in your head.
Breathing hurts.

Neck feels swollen
somewhere untouchable.
Uncomfortable is the word;
Uncomfortable everywhere.

Uncomfortable.
Written in a mirror.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Burned in all the right places.
No help, no hands;
I console you to the
"tune" of my depression.
Silence on your end.
A buzz held down
on sheets of static.

"We've had this
conversation before",
you say.
Nothing has changed
between then and now?
Burned? Burned?
I opened all my books when
you asked, I *******
showed you all my hands.
I can't even bluff.
You know who can?

It makes it hard to sleep.
Your archives are locked
and the key is on a string
and dancing in front of me.
Taunting. Semi-humiliating.
Mocking.

Between doors.
Between "lives",
towards death.
Between beds,
between homes.
Between smiles,
but never tears.
"Between jobs."
Between doses of
caffeine.
Between waking and
sleeping.

If you're still lost, well,
you know where to find me.
Jul 2014 · 480
"Heights."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Home, don't tell anyone
I'm gone,
I got tired of hearing about
the slow recession of everything.
I got tired of being around.
Pockets full of change and
if I lost my wallet,
who would worry?
Home is where I want it to be,
anywhere, it's where I keep all my fears.
It's where I am when I need trouble
simply existing.

Home, don't come in my shelter in shelter,
I've got posters waiting to fall down;
Like my figures are disappointed,
my banners are crumbling.
I'm covered in a film from the heat.
I'm sleeping in my skin,
if I can make it in time.
Where I want it to be.
Where I keep all my fears.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
I speak and make you cry,
and you tell me not to blame myself.
I can tear my own stomach out
with unparalleled willpower,
this is my life in stride.
Full stride.
The walls; black, and orange at the tips.
The carpet slowly creeps up to you,
and the paint curls as if breathing outward.
The fire makes the home come alive.
You know where to find me,
but you wouldn't know what
to look for. What to save.
Full stride.
You don't talk to me.
Full stride;
You can't fix me. We can't fix me.
That's not how this works.
If you truly thought love could
cure depression, then...
ugh...
You've been naive.
There's not a nice way to say it.
Full stride and I'm walking into
traffic with ******* pride!
I'm not involved in a massive conspiracy,
I'm a cog in a lukewarm nightmare.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Getting ready to play a video game
in a nice, not-actually-dusty-but-
has-the-comfort-of-dustiness-like
Booksto­re.
Maybe.
"Townhall free wifi."
That's just great. I mostly
just cry and complain and wonder
why dolphins are so optimistic as
to not just off themselves,
since they can consciously do so.
Free wifi though.
I mean, that's just cool.
Jul 2014 · 479
"I Don't Sleep."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
I couldn't sleep last night,
but you could.
Every night I'm awake next
to you for two or three hours.

Lately I've turned to talking
to you in your sleep.
I'm not sure what I can talk to you about.
You treat my life with more care than I do.

I don't sleep,
and tonight is no exception.
I want to die at any moment,
or [especially] right now.

You're watching me die.

All I write is suicide notes.

I'm sorry.
Jul 2014 · 403
"Spark."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Always get this feeling,
like a bullet the size of a bowling ball
is stuck deep in my chest. Like,
a child lost in a supermarket
whose parents were stabbed
outside in their minivan.
Got a shake in my hands
or a spark in the front of my skull
I can't press out no matter
how hard I squeeze my forehead.
My brow furls.
Think about biting off the tongue
a lot lately. I have you, always,
in place of cold solace or warm comfort.
No real reason, emptiness just
creeps up on you and grabs you
like a good friend. Gotta love it, right?
When you want to just
climb in a box with your
arms around yourself;
it's like your holding something
together.
"Like" it...
It's not even anyone's fault anymore,
I just get here on my own.
I know the path, and I follow it.
There's not enough sad songs in
the worn out jewel cases from the
90's to 2004 to stop my...
I don't believe in souls anymore...
from being troubled.
In the back of a yellow cab,
somewhere inside, raining.
The driver looks at you in the rear-view,
asks, "Where are we going?"
You curl up by the window.
Just gaze at the storefronts,
the gait of the ordinary citizens.
"Yeah", you tell him, softly,
"Anywhere is fine."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
They swear they can teach you everything
you're going to need to know about
life and how to take on the world.
The same ******* who
can't even tell you an
honest version of history.

If you sigh hard enough, you learn.

Some of us pull everything we know
from the margins and get called part
of an agenda for it.
Most people learn only by what
they perceive on the surface
and miss everything underneath.

Some nights you go hungry, and you learn.

The ******* go to college or university,
get some ******* degree,
and decide it makes them an unofficial expert
on situations they've never been concerned with.
Racists with law degrees.
Some of them go into the military
and come back with scars in their mind,
tell us we're just civilians,
because gun-toting is the education they received.

If you ever slept in a car because you had no choice,
you learn.

I've met a lot of people who read religious texts
and only believe what people "knew" 4000
years ago, at most.
I've met people who tell you they believe in the bible,
then when pressed for information,
obviously can't tell you **** about their own beliefs.

If you have a hard time not biting back out of habit,
you learn something.

The funny thing is, you don't need to learn how to
hate to learn how to love,
but
Once you learn what love is,
it makes it a hell of a lot clearer what hate is.
Jul 2014 · 855
"I've Seen Shit."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
I've seen relatively normal people go insane,
and it makes me wonder when someone
or something is going to pull my ticket.
Jul 2014 · 936
"1 Man Zerg Rush."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
******* salt my open wounds
and eyeballs, eye sores,
eyes are swelling up and
I'm war-chanting,
"Break ****, steal ****."
Start ****, I don't care,
I am a tempest of vulgarity.
Obscenity on high.
I am the meteor that kills
all the dinosaurs.
I am the myth that stops kids
from killing each other
by force of nightmares,
an inherent moral dialogue.
I am the rush.
I am the rush.
I am the rush.
Rush of words that knocks you off
your privileged *** and only takes
your ******* wallet.
******* salt my open wounds and
I will hurt you back.
Not out of my ******* nature,
but because I am.
I continue choosing to be.
Consciously.
I am the rush.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
This is why the teacher punishes you
for reading too far ahead.
I've worked hard to swim out here
and I just feel hurt and alone;
drifting out at sea.
Being a radical means always
having to be the hysteric or the sensitive.
Apologizing even when
you know you're right.
Being irrational,
when rationalization means
accepting the dominant ideology.
Always having to be wrong,
because of some "crack in your armor"
or some blemish on your record.
Being the biggest ******* in the room,
not even because you want to,
but because you have to.
Alienating everyone.
Capitalize on who you are,
and you can smother everyone eventually!
Your profit is such that you
can push everything away!
Sleep easy knowing you were right.
Sleep easy.
Jul 2014 · 3.8k
"Black is Beautiful."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
A phrase that people treat
like a joke, and that people
have failed to recognize the
significance of.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
Over breakfast foods I tried to
discuss how saying,
"I prefer white people/
I find white people attractive"
is subtle racism.
It was a difficult dialogue that
left me sick and empty.
The feeling of being more radical
than everyone around you.
Meeting a black girl who wants to be white,
hearing from all your friends,
"I just prefer white people",
I see, I see a dominant ideology that
places whiteness above everything else,
especially blackness. It is also a lie.
It is definitely racist.
It says that despite all other qualities a person may have,
their skin color holds them back in your eyes.
Instead I am told my ideas exist in a "box".
The reality of what I say is intensely real to me.
If you can't see the racism in yourself,
I'm not holding you to a quality where
you can point it out in others.
If you can openly pinpoint attractiveness to skin color
and just try to cop it out as "preference"
I am going to call you racist.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
You are not "naturally" attracted to white people.
In that phrase, you tell me it is unnatural for you
to be attracted to black people, or any person of color.
It is not natural. You have adopted the dominant ideology.
It is a subtle and now inherent racism.
I am tired of feeling sick because I'm the radical,
however it is a feeling I understand I will never escape.
It will follow me my entire life, I hope.
I'm sick of feeling marginalized because I recognize
sexism exists, and racism exists, and subtlety does not
******* hide it from me, I'm sick sick sick sick sick of it.
**** it though, I'd rather be sick my entire life,
and see the racism in me and others
than not see it, and just passively swallow that ideology.
I'll carry that weight in my guts,
not because I'm a martyr, because I ******* hate everyone;
because I love myself just that much.
I don't deserve to be that person anymore.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is *beautiful.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
I can't remember the last time I lived somewhere
that didn't have running water.
I wonder if it's actually happened.
We're moving a maximalist aesthetic
into a minimalist situation.
I just want a glass of water,
a hot shower,
a working toilet.
Ive never been so tired,
and I've never smelled so bad.
My leg are two masses of limp pain,
my hands are stiff, calloused wads of meat.
My right eye is experiencing a
mild swelling, that I'd ******* pray
isn't pink eye, if I believed in god,
which gets harder from here.
Illuminated in the dark of midnight
by computer light,
with only the tickings
of a cheap watch for condolence.
Their voices complain from downstairs.
Then laugh. Then return.
Trinkets chitter around.
Rooms full of garbage.
If you hit it softly enough,
can you still tell you're at the bottom?
Jul 2014 · 322
"Christina."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
I miss you so ******* much it hurts,
in my mind and in my chest.
The smell of your hair,
the feel of your skin.
The sound of your voice,
if you say "I love you", or
**** it, even if you asked
"are you okay?",
because right now
I would say I am not.
I would say I miss you.
Waking up next to you,
or really, opening my eyes,
sometimes,
as you wake up next to me.
I miss your touch,
sometimes,
you hold me and
you won't lie.
So you don't tell me
everything is going to be okay.
You say something else.
I miss that.
I miss it so much I had to start up
my ******* lap top after midnight
to write it down.
I ******* miss you.
Initiating a kiss.
Telling a story.
****…
Everything.
Just anything, okay?
So now, one of these messes
says it; I love you.
I love you so much I have trouble thinking
of a life without you, and a love for you.
I love you so much it hurts too.
It hurts to smile about the thought of you still.
I miss your snarky attacks on
the mainstream narrative.
I love your sarcastic dismantling
of the dominant ideology.
I ******* love you.
If you were wondering what I think
about when you're not here,
I think of you.
Sometimes it makes me smile,
sometimes it makes me feel alone,
but I think of you.
I miss you so much it hurts.
Jul 2014 · 414
"Size Matters!"
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Laying in bed with feet
I can smell from the other end of me,
with a poster of Malcolm X
and one of Rosie the Riveter.
A suitcase full of lights,
a wooden violin case,
a pull up bar,
a briefcase full of comic books,
and my bag.
Barely room for me.
No internet tonight.
Bad television.
A cardboard box
missing a panel, that reads,
"size matters!".
Tired. Alone.
Packed up all my books.

Moving into half of a home;
no toilet, no kitchen sink,
fridge is broken, paint missing,
smells weird, windows are *****,
everything is smaller and we
have too much ****,
so far all we have is electricity and
light.

Three hampers full of clothes,
two amplifiers, 5 guitars,
2 keyboards, a television,
a dresser, and a night stand.
Also a bed.
Whats left to go.
Me.

Cigarette smoke fills the rooms,
but it isn't mine obviously.
Still fills my lungs.
Fills my soul.
Commercial voices
fill the rooms.
Lust for sleep.
I wanna wake up somewhere
more comfortable than here.
Every insect in this room owns it
as much as I do now.
Nowhere to run.

I'm on a ship and I'm scared,
I'm not panicking, but
I'm scared of drowning.
Sinking has ceased to
stir my fears, because
the reality of drowning
has been realized.
Nothing can be fixed anymore,
least of all by me.
Cracks in the hull.
No iceberg,
just pressure.
I'm the type to choke in puddles,
so I'd say I'm handling well.

Hallways full of trash.
No furniture here… just **** on the floors.
I was concerned that I wouldn't
have my **** together when this happened
and it appears to be the exact opposite.
It's a darker comedy, that's for **** sure.
I'd sell everything if someone would
just ******* buy it, and if you feel that
then hold a lighter to the sky
for me tonight while
I'm still here.
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Lint and dust in every corner,
the **** of living builds in all
the nooks and cracks like
furniture for spiders.
The room is wilting;
The walls have been stripped
and slowly everything recedes
to the center of the room.
A monument to what was.
In this room, there was;
an art gallery,
a cave,
a studio,
an arcade,
a love shack!,
a study,
a library,
a concert hall,
a gym,
a dressing room,
a laboratory,
a cafe,
a theater,
a psych ward,
a photo booth,
a club,
and a home.
Now it moves elsewhere,
a box at a time. One-two,
a hamper of clothes,
a bag of cheap technology.
A poster. A picture.
An instrument.
A lot of instruments.
There was a heartbeat here,
and now I hope you can
invest in that.
Keep this room more than
a home. Above an enclosure.
Head and shoulders above;
this room holds legends.
Jul 2014 · 492
"Go On, Find Another."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
With a lack of coffee and muscles for dystrophy,
as a royal carcass on my own doorstep.
Go on and find another.
I'm tired of being ****** with by you,
find another "king" who sleeps
on floors and couches and worship him.
I didn't ask for it.
Find another pawn to suffocate
in a desire to fill the masculine
with violent tendencies and bulk.
Go on, get out of here and
build something else that
howls at midnight because it can't cry.
Put on your sunglasses and look for
another star; something that longs
to be bright.
**** on someone else with your love,
and don't let me owe you anything.
I've been in bed for a string of days
that haven't ended yet.
...
And still haven't seen the end.
Jul 2014 · 710
"Water Weight."
Austin Heath Jul 2014
Into oblivious territories,
acting like the sun is up.
Burning the candle at
both ends.
Then both ends meet.
Walk in the dark like
some great mass,
slither on two feet.
The present is a mystery,
so why should I worry
about tomorrow?
Blind in both eyes.
Creeping as if
something slimy,
as if you'd leave a trail
behind you.
Time is slippery.
The world is hopeless.
Impossible to stand still.
Try to keep in place?
Hold still?
Austin Heath Jun 2014
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 · 724
"Dixxon."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
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.
Jun 2014 · 1.1k
"Ophant."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
With no money in your pockets,
and a desire for a smooth ride.
Yeah, **** it... something simple.
Lust for something easy.
You speak like
anything matters;
I complain in
the opposing
direction.
Bleeding, and everyone would care
if you'd just ******* show them.
Overdriven in lifestyle,
by design without purpose.
Wearing black, but not poignantly.
Cursing because ****,
it feels so good.
Smashing whatever since
you don't own anything.
Dissenting because you can.
Maybe you'll steal **** tomorrow,
maybe you'll tell a lie.
Breathe in.
Cough, choke, turn indigo.
You're gonna do just fine.
Jun 2014 · 981
"Skronk is Freedom."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Haven't really eaten, in a long time.
Wasting away. Physically,
but not mentally yet.
Yet.
Banging on instruments for
the perfect cacophony.
Stormy tonight outside Cleveland
as I stab away inside my laboratory.
Raining hell and I **** around
till my ears are almost bleeding,
screaming, more aspirin,
lighting thunder, and in the
dead sequences of recording
IT LIVES.
Strings detuned from a menace,
pure chaos on a note rings on,
SKRONK.
Skronk is freedom,
every voice saying what
every voice has to say.
5/4 and it's ******* outside,
and all I know is the key to
utopia is any note you like
in A major.
**** the signature.
Skronk is *freedom.
Jun 2014 · 771
"Surrounding or Flanking."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Making dinosaur egg oatmeal,
maggots in the kitchen sink,
ants on the floor,
flies in air.
How did I get here?
Žižek on the counter,
and you're trapped here
by yourself, kid.
Trapped again.
Here we are.
Communal
bankruptcy.
Jun 2014 · 19.6k
"Why I Quit Individuality."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
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.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
The dream herein then is to die before they catch you.
To pass in your sleep, fading in new seas
of physical complications and credit debt;
to die before someone breaks you.
To get hit by something so large,
you'll have to call it "God".
For some, before their liver punches out,
and their bodies turn shades unintended.
Epilogue, and the bank takes back the house.
Your day job doesn't skip a beat.
Your art goes unnoticed.
Your clothes go to charity.
Your mattress goes to the curb.
Not a single cloud to sit in
and observe, how bodies rot,
but lives dissolve.
More like salt than alka-seltzer,
unless you have more enemies
than I.
Jun 2014 · 419
"You're a Curse."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
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 · 495
"Heir Lindsay."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
I was looking at your face,
fell in love with your smile.
I'm so ******* exhausted,
I can barely think straight,
so ******* tired,
who knows who wants who?
Lalalalalalala-
I'm like a janitor in your
spotless hallways, heart throbs,
heart beats, selfish insecurities.
I want to hold you close and
say it's gonna be okay.
Don't wanna hold you tight and lie.
Inherit my soul.
You're the first in line.
Inherit my darkness,
my shadows, inherit my mind.
I live without you, I live in a
constant state of half reaction.
Yet everything leaves bruises.
This chord is like the most
gorgeous sludge I've ever
lived in. Lalalalalalalalalala-
Who knows who wants who?
Maybe we don't want to.
Jun 2014 · 519
"Obsidian Vultures."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
I am half the parasite to
drive you insane.
Hold your hand through
the park.
Smile at black comedy.
Smile as you cringe.
I am part of you in
someone else now.
Under your radar,
trying to get under your skin.
A monster that breathes new
life into your oldest of fears.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
"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.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
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.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Peak temperature water levels fake diagnoses white psychopaths starving hunger jingoism violence [systems that deprive us] guns entitlement shots fired accidents grief/mourning choking hazard corporate mascots corporate favoritism corporate bailouts corporate people ideology without monitor nationalism patriotism conservatives patriarchy ******-****-suicide victim silence lack of conviction religious ******* false history infant mortality job insecurity invisible hands trickle down economics union busters corporate police brutal police evil police secret police debt bankruptcy foreclosure homelessness lost confused prisoner criminal banker war preparations propaganda ballots commercials advertisements campaigns money power puppets figureheads armies genocides **** bomb gas fire no survival violence wealthy lawyers assassinations heart complications death sleep.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Deep royal purple bags under my eyes.
Hair that carelessly does exactly what I want it to.
To look perfectly exhausted.
Eyes that are overdriven
and burnt out.
A terrible demeanor
that idiots find charming.
A necessity to break something,
or a pent up anger that combusts
an engine of ill intentions;
Not just for me,
yes, for all of us.
Death howl
porcelain fingers
wooden spine
slightly violet.
Glass heart.
To kiss *** when pressed
and beg yourself you'll
give it hell later.
Pull the curtains off
and still see nothing.
Somehow useless like
a god or angel of death
or mercy.
Fantasy realized in the mind
that refuses to become reality.
A promise no one keeps.
Words spoken yet empty,
feeble, and without presence.
No sleep.
Trying to find the conscience.
Seeking the moral compass.
Where were you supposed to be?
Where's the wall and am
I against it? Buried in art,
"criticism of art", failing to hear
your laundry list of shortcomings.
Reading to yourself out loud
to see how ******* awful it is.
Pinching yourself.
Chewing your fingertips to stumps.
Seeing things.
Hearing things.
Dreaming things.
Wanting things.
Hoping for things.
Wishing for things.
Begging for things.
Waiting for things.
Getting nothing.
Jun 2014 · 676
"Stationary."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
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 · 391
"You're Stepping On Me."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
The thought hits me that I "could" someday
be a great writer and captivate audiences.
I "could" be brilliant.
I couldn't even claim my own success,
what with all these sycophants
eager to pull the rug from under me
and call it their own.
Being a musician made me a musician.
Being a writer made me a writer.
Being an artist made me an artist.
Everything else just happened,
and even if it was poignant,
none of you feeble minded ****** built me.
Remember that waking up is the last step,
and the rest is incidental.
If it all blows up in my face
you'll remind me whose hand
was in that bomb, happily.
If it tips and falls over harmlessly,
you'll want to tell me how much
your guidance meant to me.
I can't even claim my own success.
Jun 2014 · 533
"Nails Broken Sideways."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Something in here's not right;
in my black box there's a fire.
If here's my home then here I'll burn;
here I'll choke, black mucus, dark thoughts,
dark matter, doesn't ******* matter,
suffocating all the time.
Captured. Figured out. Caught. Caged.
These fever dreams don't pity me,
nails cracked inwards, can't
scrape the hardwood floors blue.
Can't scrape my life together; shifting contents,
spilled out on the floor in anatomical design.
Footprints. Knee prints. Hand prints.
Face down.
I just want someone to hold me
and say, "everything is going to be okay",
every once in a while.
Okay.
GONE. Get crushed in the vice grip of
reality. Reality;
Doesn't even take place in color.
Stretches sense till it tears at the wrists
-I ***** in protest but-
Madness is my resolve! My fortitude.
I will not plead to sanity,
but why is there a light in here?
Somethings wrong.
Bitter to the touch, green/green
on both sides. What is real life?
-I want to tear you apart from the inside
deranged male power fantasy-
Running full speed at the end
of my sentence.
Bones that reverberate, echo,
rattle, then snap.
And
whats in my marrow
burns orange.
Cautionary.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Came out of the heat and into a strange simmering ***;
my mother accepted the responsibility of a baby
for about half an hour or so.
It cried.
It cried so **** much.
She tried to hand it off to me, and I
dodged that mother-sucker like the plague.
Of the top three things I "don't",
babies are two.
******* it cried so much.
That's all I have to say.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
BANG CRASH BANG CRASH
HuuuuBANGmmmmm. WhCRASHir.
I hold my fist in the air against
a specimen that would commit genocide against me,
a semi-sapien in that humanity is devoid.
CRASH* the people we call monsters.
BANG the sound of nuclear omnicide.
whiirrrr.* If we all die, it'll be a great
CRASH to ignore. ****'em;
I'll toss my plastic in the heap
if it means we melt off the planet
or drown in our own eventuality.
If it BANGs it's head voluntarily
why's it white like a straight jacket [?],
why's isn't it a criminal like Nixon,
like no bird and two Bushes. CRASH
CRASH
BANG CRASH BANG CRASH
Hum. Whir.
Jun 2014 · 1.3k
"Slaughter Home."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Fireworks that spray paint
brain matter and bits of tongue
like obscenities in a bathroom stall.
Spray paint everything yellow.
Own everything. Burn everything.
**** everything. Invade it;
infect it, vivisect your name
as an iron-on patch into it's guts.
Stitch it in close to something necessary.
A little bit of everything dies.
Anything that can be possessed,
umbrella of oppressions.
Prancing.
You'd make me cry just to see if it's possible.
You'd push me off the edge to see how close I am.
You'd push me off the edge to see how fast I fall.
You'd step on my fingers to see if they bleed.
You'd stomp in my teeth to see if they crack.
You'd spit on the corpse to see if it hydrates.
Cartwheeling.
Anything abrasive, anything slightly toxic,
something disgusting to indulge in.
**** the gardens, **** the rivers and lakes;
Died in a boar's den,
died in the stomach of a volcano,
gave it three days and decided
death suits one just fine.
Pieces
of
dishes
stuck between your toes.
A rainbow in violent undertones,
the ROYGBIV of slashing motions.
Tax exempt.
Cartwheeling.
A little bit of everything dies.
Jun 2014 · 666
"White Violins."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Voices,
and
they're all mine.
I reside in the
heartbeat
of my own God;
On the scarlet
knuckles
of a
voice.
Pale night,
and fear.
Jun 2014 · 858
"Don't Miss Love."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
So I've been feeling head backwards
but I'm not trying to make it feel right.
I find it funny you want the sunshine,
and all the comedy in the dark **** gets left to me,
but I didn't come here to berate you,
belittle you, or condemn you.
I came here because although I don't miss love,
well, I kinda miss you.
You are my center when I spin
out of control, up and away,
beyond the clouds.
You are my gatekeeper when I
try to run away from everything.
I try to run away.
I didn't make any reservations for this,
this time or point in reality,
yet here I am.
For you.
I've asked myself a lot of questions,
and tried to stuff the answers in my pockets
and run out the doors before anyone
can grab me. Not this time.
I don't really know why.
I don't, and I didn't miss love,
but honestly, I missed you.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
So this is how it all falls down, huh?
It spirals downward and out of control,
forces beyond your nature going flippant
without mercy or thought.
This is how it ends;
not with a bang or a whisper,
but with a soft whistling
that ends in impact without detonation.
We're really ****** this time, aren't we?
We really ****** ourselves.
You have no escape plan,
no sense of time anymore,
****, you nailed your feet to a sinking ship.
And just watch how this ship sinks,
a gallon at a time until
we're at the bottom.
Get ready for the bottom, because
if you thought you knew the bottom before,
Oh, you were so poorly mistaken.
You have so much left to see.
King of filth;
you have so much more to live for.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
I'm in dark sunglasses
outside of Dunkin Donuts again
taking more wifi by the throat
and tearing it into this machine.
No money,
probably $50 in debt by now.
I'm tired of today already.
Trying to hide my face,
or something about me.
I don't ******* know,
I don't particularly care either.
Let's talk about something else;
My generation.
How long are we going to cough blood
until we get our **** together?
Are we slowly losing rights
or slowly gaining consciousness?
How many days are we going to to hide
our red stains away from strangers?
Is it a push towards more
"politically conscious" neo-liberals
or
pants-shittingly insane radical conservatives?
How many more mornings will we spit blood
into our bathroom sinks?
Is it nationalism, mutually assured destruction of the self,
or culture, identity, the return of humanity?
Humanity, you know, does exist.
There's just a marginally greater infliction of dehumanization
stemming from the systems we've built.
They're grinding us down.
From flesh to meat.
How much longer till we're closer
to being dinner than eating it?
Jun 2014 · 1.3k
"Heaven by Default."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
I awoke to the absence of life I'm fond of;
Whose conditions merit my apathy towards suicide.
Found a cup of coffee in the ***
waiting, begging, to get poured out.
The feeling of a railroad spike driven into my skull
has worked it's way from the
back right section of the dome
to my left eyeball.
Lovely.
I am at one with all the bullets,
the dead hamsters, bent silverware,
tacky ties, and broken fingers,
the world over.
Floating between the gravitational pull
of two great monuments.
A mutilated Zen.
My personal handiwork.
I want to stand in the ruins of one success.
Instead I'm vacantly taking aspirin,
finally okay with giving up.
Quitting.
I don't want to be an artist anymore.
That spirit stapled to the spine,
entwined to the softer parts of the brain,
pretending to be a dream.
Give up.
Giving up is the scalpel for
Quitting; self lobotomy.
I don't have a surgeon's hands,
but I'll settle for a surgeon's success.
In dark sunglasses. The distance.
A nameless faceless paycheck.
Sipping on a bottle of ghosts
to maintain a mere apathy.
I don't sleep well.
Jun 2014 · 581
"Guts."
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Got that sinking feeling,
like a man taking off in an elevator.
Going up but somehow left behind.
I got that, "your time is up" aura
drowning me from all around,
inside and out.
Like being eaten by ants.
The hand that twitches
at high noon.
The ex-fastest.
The wick at it's end.
Wax running off the table.
Dying in a fever dream,
cold towel on my head.
Obsolete technology in a dump
next to banana peels and
soggy pornographic materials.
Yesterday's news being shredded
into todays toilet paper.
From a greasy grumpy retail worker
all the way
to a corpse in a crash test simulation.
Being fed your own organs,
genitals first.
Standing in a hail of glass
without an umbrella.
Standing at the edge of the world
with an Antagonist behind you
in steel toe boots. Glaring.
Possibly upset.
That just flunked bronze sensation.
A sinking feeling.
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