Do Soulmates Even Exist?


When will I find the one?

That’s what people wandering wonder;

they worry over love, and finding their soulmate,

never considering that

we are capable of loving many

over a lifetime, and


all at once.


My heart is full to swelling,

and I wish it wasn’t

because it makes it

harder to be true to the one that

I want to be the one


The one

I see myself bound to for eternity.


© Kindra M. Austin


(image: Pinterest)


Chordae Tendineae


Pluck me a melody from the sinews of your heart—

be mine

own Orpheus; private poet,

sing me your soul.

Tell me you’ll give me adoration, heavy—

more than mine arms can carry,



I promise I will dance for you like


cherished wife.


I promise I will strip for you like

prostitutes do,

but for the low, low price of

one true sweetheart.


Pluck me a melody from the sinews of your heart

when I wake up bathing

in mine

own vomit, cos I gone and done it


got stupid

over the love of a lyre.


© Kindra M. Austin


(image: Wikipedia)


Jimmi gets all of my hearts. ❤

jimmi campkin


Walking through the graveyard in shoes that don’t fit me properly, looking at the stones leaning here and there…. some face down and others scarred by weather and youths.  I cannot help feeling anxious.  Everything is the same – old church, young trees, dead mothers and fathers.  I got my first blowjob here from a girl with scarlett hair, clutching the cold stone as I felt the twitch and the rush and I looked down and warned her something was arriving fast, at which she took me deeper and wiggled her head and my legs almost collapsed from under me like a broken cherry-picker.  Cherry-picker.  First time.  Get it?  Sigh.

A dreadful joke for a dreadful man.  I kick a stone around to make sure it isn’t dog shit and weigh it in the palm of my hand.  Perfectly smooth, decent mass, perfect missile.  The question is, what can I…

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Ffs, S.K. ❤

S. K. Nicholas


Don’t fall in love. Fall in love. Give up smoking then light a cigarette while standing on a balcony looking out at the end of the world. The death of everyone is so pretty. It soothes our bastard hearts and gives us the strength to carry on. It makes us laugh when we’re all out of money and reasons to keep the fire. Time. Nothing but time, and beer farts that drown the world in their gratuitous stink. Working-class dreams that flicker long into the night while billions toss and turn trying to escape because this thing ain’t working at all. Ain’t it so funny. Just one long ride into the heart of oblivion. One spiralling descent into those infinite mundane days where we organise ourselves accordingly into social gatherings and work and dentist appointments followed by coffee catch-ups where the discussion tickles the surface but never goes any deeper…

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Viscera in Danger (revamp)


Their need is visceral. Oh!

Pretty blonde girl,

fresh trailer park trash,

junkyard dogs snarl and quarrel over your flesh—

tongues wag to get at your bones.

Twelve years old, and

your marrow is aromatic.


Mother’s a full-time drunk, and you

only got a part-time daddy.


Good luck, babe;

welcome to Contaminated Manor.

Find your place in the Court somehow


letting them taste you.


© Kindra M. Austin


(image: Pinterest)