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Austyn Taylor Jun 2019
We built this house. We eat watermelon on the floor, spitting seeds across a shooting range measured by the planks in the floor.

We built this house. We spill barbeque sauce while trying to make pizza and lick it from each other like wild animals, we are free.

We built this house. We drink our coffee cold. We’re too busy looking at each other to drink it hot. I guess we’re admiring the temperature of each other instead.

We built this house. My eyes are the color of the garden you gave me, watered by the April showers of tough times. Flowers come in spring.

We built this house. Your eyes fell from the stars, your dreams stayed there, never to come back down.

We built this house. We dance in our underwear as we pack away our scars, the scars that don’t scream,

we can walk away from this quietly.

We have never loved each other more than this moment, but now this moment has passed. We sit across from each other in more April showers, flowers come in spring. We sit on the wrong sides of the table. Packing our scars into separate boxes, they scream. We keep them quiet.

If Christ can move stone to forgive our sins, why can’t we?

Rip open the scars that scream, pack them with the dirt of a grave, you are ready to let them die. You are ready to plant seeds. Flowers come in spring. We don’t wait for healing to find us. We have risen from the ground and better **** well act like it. You water flowers, not leave. Regrowth happens in spring.
We are spring.
We are spring.

We built this house.
Austyn Taylor Jan 2019
I'd liken you to an alien
Pulling out a new skin suit from the closet each day,

But that would mean you're extraterrestrial
And you are nothing but ordinary.

Tell me you and him are “just friends”
And we are “close friends”

As you sharpen the fangs you’ll leech me with,
Plastic over your teeth.

It’s not winning if you don’t become someone else.
I’d call you chameleon, but

I have too much respect for them
And your colors just aren’t that bright.

Your slithering tongue won’t be remembered in a year.
Your name gone the next.

Take solace in knowing that what you tried to break
Will forever be etched into his skin

Like the tattoo in mine;
Memorable, but not you.

You stood in my shadow
And tried to call it yours.

Blame the sun for spilling your secrets.
And blame me when you burn.

I warned you,

That I crawled up from hell.
You just crawled out of a casket.

I have flames; you have your fears,
And you cannot bury me with them.

You tried to warm your rotting soul
And take the flames as your own.

Smother your ugly in ice
And ask me why I was so cold.

Whirling wardrobe,
Break free.

*****, please.

A sunflower doesn’t succumb to weeds.
You’re just fertilizer for me.

This is my summer part three.
A piece of my book.
Austyn Taylor May 2018
There's something sick about the blood still on the door.
There's something sicker still about the way that you touched me.
There's something brutally honest in these walls.

You were predatory, coming undone.
And it's the one thing I haven't figured out or washed away.

There's some things you can't scrub clean.
My hands still smell like bleach from all the times I've tried.

You were anything but accidental.
You were calm, criminal, calculating,


I was all your gory daydreams,
Covered in flowers,


There's no way to run with bruised limbs and broken bones
And blood never cleanses sins.

But sacrifice in the name of "please don't take me."
Please don't take me.

Am I still going to hell?
Haven't decided on my ending, oops.
Austyn Taylor Dec 2017
<i>As the songs start becoming more "I love you."
And more "*******."</I>

You're a ******* art project
And I'm the wasted paint.

You're the jaws of life
And I'm the crumpled up car.

You're an accidental adventure I was so lucky to go on.
So sunshine and self worth.
How much of you is real?

I need to stop casually referring to myself as toxic waste.
I need to stop talking about you like you put the stars in the ******* sky
Because it was me.

I did.

I am chaos in a small bottle.
I am more than some tragic masterpiece you painted in 7th grade.
I'm the pure white paint you couldn't use because it never matched your soul.

How tragic.

You touched my walls with your blackened hands and you weren't burning them down; you were bringing them up.
There's no fire in your bones.
You're only cobwebs and I'm dusting these shelves off.

I'm a ******* art project.
You're just wasted paint.

You're a ******* car crash
Under your deadened sky,
Potential wasted in wasting time.

Am I still the only star in your sky?

I was the telescope, all eyes and waiting.
But all you became was a black hole, black tar,
Sticky and swimming.

Swallow me.

You slammed the door when you walked in.
I slammed the door equally as hard when I left.
There's no stars in your sky.

                                                           ­       Goodmorning.
I haven't decided if I like this piece.
Austyn Taylor Oct 2017
My wrists still hurt on Thursdays. I still remember the way you looked at me. I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods. I miss the way you ****** me, like I didn't even matter. I knew I didn't matter, but my god, I wanted to matter.


     I constantly have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I'm carrying drugs I should not need. One to stop the pain and two to stop the panic. That's still three times the recommended dose. You still give me three times the recommended dose. I still need three times the recommended dose.

     The trees and the sky, the sky just as blue as your eyes; and you say you don't understand why I wouldn't want to live forever, but how can I not want to die when forever was in your eyes? The trees weep your name and how can I live knowing they're dying just as slow as the respiratory rate of our love?


     I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods.

     I feel the rusty nail in my back as much as I feel the nail in my coffin. The rusty nail you pushed me against. I am buried alive. The dirt is beginning to smell like home.

     I drink caffeine to keep me awake. I drink too much caffeine to feel you in my chest. I still don't eat. If you were to touch me, you could feel every inch of my spine. And all this time I thought I was spineless.

     The only way I know I never loved you was when I tried to say your name, I would say someone else's.


     If I were to forget you, maybe I could sleep. And then maybe my caffeine heart could take it's final beat.
I don't know if this can really be called a poem, but its still something I'm proud of
Austyn Taylor Oct 2017
Tomorrow I'll drink three monsters

And pray that I will live.

Because it became too much for me

And I'm not the one you're with.

The caffeine will bring my mood up

Just enough so you can't see

The scars that hang around my wrists

And the demons chasing me.
Austyn Taylor Oct 2014
The 21st. 2:16am. I told you you were going to hurt me. You were destined to hurt me with your too soft paws, accidentally pulling out your claws and ou didn't want to see the blood spatter.
The 21st. 2:17am. This is when I told you I loved you. Maybe, definitely, always. You never said it back.
The 21st. 2:18am. You told me my heart was too big, but still not big enough to hold everything. I sure as hell couldn't hold you.

It's been three weeks and I still see your blood on my bed sheets.

The 21st. 2:19am. I told you I would never be heartless like you. You told me if that's all I aspire to be, I'll be nothing more than another ******* cliche.
You were stupid and I was dumb and we were toxic waste.
The 21st. 2:22am. I said, "Honey, I'll never be like you." You didn't get it.
My mother's eyes are weary. Your mother's eyes never stopped creating seas. *
The 21st. 2:36am. I pushed you into a lamp. It shattered.
The rest of their eyes are filled with contempt and I don't know if it's for you or me, but my god, it feels like me.
The 21st. I lost track of time. You slapped me. You slapped me again. I am lying with the lamp.
I screamed and you shouted and we were alive.
The 21st. 2:53am. The cops stopped by for the fourth time this week. They called it a domestic dispute, but it just felt like breathing in water.
You were the false positive of a pregnancy test, nervous and scared and alone. I was the father too scared to stick around. You were the drug induced high that kept going.
The 21st. 3:26am. I told you, and I quote, "We live fast and die young and we are dying fast."
And then you stopped
I burned myself on the toaster twice just to feel you touch me.*
The 21st. 3:27am. You were lovesick and I was high as **** and we were too far gone.
Not sure I'm pleased with every part of this.
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