refined-in-flames - Hello Poetry

I had a little lamb Its fleece was white as snow I covered it all in red With the blood of my foes Now it haunts your dreams As you count yourself to sleep Can't get it out of your mind My little lamb's red behind

0

Oct 20, 2015

Oct 20, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC

Rhyming Devils Dance Like Wolves

I had a little lamb Its fleece was white as snow I covered it all in red With the blood of my foes Now it haunts your dreams As you count yourself to sleep Can't get it out of your mind My little lamb's red behind

8

If only I could puppeteer my own heart But I can't control the viscous strings. They are taut, lying in someone else's hands And she laughs at me from the shadows.

0

Jul 1, 2015

Jul 1, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC

Hidden Desires

If only I could puppeteer my own heart But I can't control the viscous strings. They are taut, lying in someone else's hands And she laughs at me from the shadows.

4

Life can't help but **** us; it's in our blood.

0

Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC

Humanity's Last Breath

Life can't help but **** us; it's in our blood.

2

Time is merely a souvenir of closed caskets and love stories.

0

Feb 10, 2015

Feb 10, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC

In Hope We Are Born

Time is merely a souvenir of closed caskets and love stories.

2

If nothing outside my mind is true At least I have everything in my heart And that everything is you.

0

Feb 3, 2015

Feb 3, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC

Epinephrine

If nothing outside my mind is true At least I have everything in my heart And that everything is you.

3

I like seeing dust It reminds me that we're dying

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Nov 17, 2014

Nov 17, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC

Dead Skin Cells

I like seeing dust It reminds me that we're dying

2

Ebola is real. Ebola is real. Smack the world as you would slam an oyster. Find the prize—your ontological argument Gas prices are down. Gas prices are down. Wash the pearl as you would wipe a newborn. Marvel at life—and its derivative meaning Ebola is real. Gas prices are down. People are dying and we are smiling.

0

Nov 11, 2014

Nov 11, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC

Mantras

Ebola is real. Ebola is real. Smack the world as you would slam an oyster. Find the prize—your ontological argument Gas prices are down. Gas prices are down. Wash the pearl as you would wipe a newborn. Marvel at life—and its derivative meaning Ebola is real. Gas prices are down. People are dying and we are smiling.

10

Rahab A harlot, a monster She tears at my flesh She weeps at my glory. I am ensnared in her gaze, enslaved to her power. Blazing in the sun, shimmering in the moon Inexplicable, flawless Her smooth arches have seduced me. Let me go, I pray Let me go And she released me. But she chased me She never found me I am free I am lost.

0

Oct 9, 2014

Oct 9, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC

Oasis

Rahab A harlot, a monster She tears at my flesh She weeps at my glory. I am ensnared in her gaze, enslaved to her power. Blazing in the sun, shimmering in the moon Inexplicable, flawless Her smooth arches have seduced me. Let me go, I pray Let me go And she released me. But she chased me She never found me I am free I am lost.

16

If the truth were shallow we would all be swimming in it.

0

Oct 2, 2014

Oct 2, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC

But The World Just Floats Along

If the truth were shallow we would all be swimming in it.

2

Knees scraped along bark as the lion tree ****** me into its embrace. My mother hated that I climbed trees. My mother hated that I climbed trees with the neighborhood boys. The sun stirred in the sky, clouds melted apart, and there was fishing there was biking there was climbing—and lots of it there was fighting and, of course, too much pretending. The sun followed me, spinning in time, hands covering its marked face. Puberty came and with it my curls—my genetically re-enforced femininity. Goodbye, hats! Hello, headbands. No longer looking but looked at, baptized in my own hormones, I stand on the roots of the trees that no longer **** me in.

0

Sep 23, 2014

Sep 23, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC

From Anonymous to Identifiable

Knees scraped along bark as the lion tree ****** me into its embrace. My mother hated that I climbed trees. My mother hated that I climbed trees with the neighborhood boys. The sun stirred in the sky, clouds melted apart, and there was fishing there was biking there was climbing—and lots of it there was fighting and, of course, too much pretending. The sun followed me, spinning in time, hands covering its marked face. Puberty came and with it my curls—my genetically re-enforced femininity. Goodbye, hats! Hello, headbands. No longer looking but looked at, baptized in my own hormones, I stand on the roots of the trees that no longer **** me in.

23