AmaraGrrrl93 - Hello Poetry

You spoke, and every god went silent, the stars leaned closer, hungry to listen. We met where the river forgot its name, and you smiled like someone who’d stolen fire. Your hands traced constellations on my skin, and I felt the history of us in every touch. The ground remembered the press of our bodies, and I knew if love was holy, it was never meant for us. I tasted eternity on your tongue, bright and bitter, holy and wrong. If ruin had a flavor, it was this — divine, and utterly mine. Your lips eclipsed every careful thought, and the fire of creation ran through my veins. I would burn — and burn gladly — for this, for the shiver of you against me, the tremble of your hands. Every heartbeat drums a warning, but your smile is a covenant I cannot resist. I feel the sin curling through me before the fall, and I would kneel at no altar but yours Your teeth graze my lips in a half-smile, your fingers trace the hollow behind my ear, and I taste sin and salvation in the same breath. Every nerve trembles in worship and fear, I taste the ruin of Eden on my lips, and the serpent smiles in my blood. Pleasure rises like a dark tide, a sacrament I kneel to willingly The earth convulses beneath me, Every cry, every shiver, a decree; I am both hymn and heresy, suspended in holy ruin. Your touch unspools eternity, and I fold into it like scripture carved in flesh. Morning will come to find me hollowed, the taste of ash where your name once bloomed. If heaven keeps its records, let it write this: I knew the sin, and called it love.

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Oct 21, 2025

Oct 21, 2025 at 5:21 AM UTC

The First Sin

You spoke, and every god went silent, the stars leaned closer, hungry to listen. We met where the river forgot its name, and you smiled like someone who’d stolen fire. Your hands traced constellations on my skin, and I felt the history of us in every touch. The ground remembered the press of our bodies, and I knew if love was holy, it was never meant for us. I tasted eternity on your tongue, bright and bitter, holy and wrong. If ruin had a flavor, it was this — divine, and utterly mine. Your lips eclipsed every careful thought, and the fire of creation ran through my veins. I would burn — and burn gladly — for this, for the shiver of you against me, the tremble of your hands. Every heartbeat drums a warning, but your smile is a covenant I cannot resist. I feel the sin curling through me before the fall, and I would kneel at no altar but yours Your teeth graze my lips in a half-smile, your fingers trace the hollow behind my ear, and I taste sin and salvation in the same breath. Every nerve trembles in worship and fear, I taste the ruin of Eden on my lips, and the serpent smiles in my blood. Pleasure rises like a dark tide, a sacrament I kneel to willingly The earth convulses beneath me, Every cry, every shiver, a decree; I am both hymn and heresy, suspended in holy ruin. Your touch unspools eternity, and I fold into it like scripture carved in flesh. Morning will come to find me hollowed, the taste of ash where your name once bloomed. If heaven keeps its records, let it write this: I knew the sin, and called it love.

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My heart is a house with too many evacuation plans, too many goodbye notes stuffed in drawers, Walls scorched from old flames and yet somehow, My enclosure still stands A single candle burns in the window. Somewhere inside, a quiet part of me keeps sweeping the floors, keeps putting fresh water on the nightstand, just in case my heart finds its way back home. The sky hangs like a scroll, letters scorched by lightning, and I pace the ruins of my own patience, calling to a God who left a note on the table: “Gone for cigarettes, back never.” Even the prophets look tired, their sandals frayed, their voices echoing in empty streets, while I sweep the ashes of my own prayers into neat little piles and wonder if mercy is just another myth. The cobbled roads are rivers of ash, and I wade through them barefoot, counting the remnants of prayers that never found ears, watching towers crumble and cherubim sink into dust, their wings weighed down with exhaustion, Wondering if the Morning Star Felt this way as he fell from grace The air tastes of sulfur and burnt offerings, as I walk through temples icons overturned, gold leaf flaking like old scabs. No incense rises, only smoke from forgotten altars curling into a heaven too distant to answer. Ashes fall around me like angels their wings whispering names I can’t remember, prayers I can’t finish And still I walk, through the ruins of prayers and prophets, my feet scorched, my hands empty, wandering a land of smoke and angels’ ashes, while the Morning Star drifts overhead, a witness to my exile, watching kingdoms crumble in a sky that has forgotten how to answer. my heart — battered, bruised, restless, relentless — Will find its final resting place

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Oct 17, 2025

Oct 17, 2025 at 8:38 AM UTC

Cinder

My heart is a house with too many evacuation plans, too many goodbye notes stuffed in drawers, Walls scorched from old flames and yet somehow, My enclosure still stands A single candle burns in the window. Somewhere inside, a quiet part of me keeps sweeping the floors, keeps putting fresh water on the nightstand, just in case my heart finds its way back home. The sky hangs like a scroll, letters scorched by lightning, and I pace the ruins of my own patience, calling to a God who left a note on the table: “Gone for cigarettes, back never.” Even the prophets look tired, their sandals frayed, their voices echoing in empty streets, while I sweep the ashes of my own prayers into neat little piles and wonder if mercy is just another myth. The cobbled roads are rivers of ash, and I wade through them barefoot, counting the remnants of prayers that never found ears, watching towers crumble and cherubim sink into dust, their wings weighed down with exhaustion, Wondering if the Morning Star Felt this way as he fell from grace The air tastes of sulfur and burnt offerings, as I walk through temples icons overturned, gold leaf flaking like old scabs. No incense rises, only smoke from forgotten altars curling into a heaven too distant to answer. Ashes fall around me like angels their wings whispering names I can’t remember, prayers I can’t finish And still I walk, through the ruins of prayers and prophets, my feet scorched, my hands empty, wandering a land of smoke and angels’ ashes, while the Morning Star drifts overhead, a witness to my exile, watching kingdoms crumble in a sky that has forgotten how to answer. my heart — battered, bruised, restless, relentless — Will find its final resting place

54

You gave me a kiss in the Garden after I offered you my body. The silver weighed heavy in your hand, but heavier still in my chest. You said my name like a prayer, but left it at the altar, a sacrifice I never agreed to. We met again at a crossroads It was dark but your face was darker Shrouded by the cloak you wore Every shadow whispered your name, and every silver coin felt like a dagger pressed against the pulse of my heart. I walked among the olive trees, your shadow trailing mine like a second skin. Every step a confession, every heartbeat a Judas song. You offered nothing; I bled everything and still, your hands were empty, your eyes a mirror of the betrayal I could not escape. Every shadow I met became a thief, every word unspoken a lash upon my spine. Stealing the warmth from my chest, leaving a hollow drum of silver coins where love had once dared to beat, only the echo of my heartbeat and the taste of betrayal on my tongue. I felt the warmth of a memory before it dissolved into venom, the hollow rhythm of a heart betrayed— its drum silent to all but itself. They dragged me from the garden, but the garden clung to my bones Thorns where roses once were, and a crown I never asked to wear Why hast thou forsaken me? Among serpents, their venom dripping, I kneel, whispering psalms of forgiveness for a mercy long denied.

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Oct 17, 2025

Oct 17, 2025 at 8:17 AM UTC

Cloven

You gave me a kiss in the Garden after I offered you my body. The silver weighed heavy in your hand, but heavier still in my chest. You said my name like a prayer, but left it at the altar, a sacrifice I never agreed to. We met again at a crossroads It was dark but your face was darker Shrouded by the cloak you wore Every shadow whispered your name, and every silver coin felt like a dagger pressed against the pulse of my heart. I walked among the olive trees, your shadow trailing mine like a second skin. Every step a confession, every heartbeat a Judas song. You offered nothing; I bled everything and still, your hands were empty, your eyes a mirror of the betrayal I could not escape. Every shadow I met became a thief, every word unspoken a lash upon my spine. Stealing the warmth from my chest, leaving a hollow drum of silver coins where love had once dared to beat, only the echo of my heartbeat and the taste of betrayal on my tongue. I felt the warmth of a memory before it dissolved into venom, the hollow rhythm of a heart betrayed— its drum silent to all but itself. They dragged me from the garden, but the garden clung to my bones Thorns where roses once were, and a crown I never asked to wear Why hast thou forsaken me? Among serpents, their venom dripping, I kneel, whispering psalms of forgiveness for a mercy long denied.

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