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Louis Espina Nov 26
My eyes begin to fail on themself, like the dawn—I begin to lose sight of my hometown. Lost in the footsteps of my own, I can only hope it'd leave me vulnerable.

I follow the trail of warmth—noticing that this'll only hurt. You trick me to be held on your lap, and I feel at home. The warmth becomes addicting, and it consumes my heart—encased with a sheep's wool.

Though, my eyes begin to deceive me, and as they shut I believe to myself that I've seen a wolf. I hastily become anxious of our time, despite the warmth you provide.

Just as I begin to close my tired eyes—the wool that once encased me had left. I begin to rub my eyes at a single realization. You weren't a wolf, but neither were you a loving sheep.

You were a lady with a loving heart, one that wasn't made for me.
Nostalgia Nov 23
Would you still like me if I was a lie?
Would you back into a corner?
I cling onto the corner of the walls, I push myself away.
I am scared.
Will my sharp claws and fangs sink into your skin?
I don’t want to hurt you.
But god am I just so..
hungry.
The pit in my stomach has never been so empty.
I smell the wild on you.
How the snow is caked in your fur.
When the night falls, what does
It offer besides survival.
And the means to be something
besides human.
We're stuck here somewhere where
The earth has broken.
And the cold envelopes everything it
Touches.
You stand there in the snow
Teeth bared.
Not afraid to go at it once more.
I've grown tired, so very tired.
Your eyes burn the snow.
That fierce longing to stay alive.
What else does the night offer,
We've consumed pretty much
everything else except each other.
And I am tired of fighting.
Nothing pretty survives out here alone,
In the dark.
Together, you and I nestled in each other's warm.
When hunger subsides.
We'll find it in each other
In the moonlight, she looked almost blue;
the silver of her hair, glowing-
the white of her smile, gleaming-
the amber of her eyes, burning.

In the moonlight, I thought I saw her shiver;
in the pale skin, a twitch-
in the lithe limbs, a tensing-
in the hot breath, a stutter.

In the moonlight, I met my death;
through her sharp teeth, biting-
through her long nails, rending-
through her rough tongue, savoring.

In the moonlight, she howled proud;
in the thin back, an arch-
in the wry bellow, a glee-
in the bleeding drops, my soul.
September 18th, 2024
MetaVerse Sep 19
Little Bo Peep
Has lost her sheep.
The big bad wolf is full
And sleeping on a bed of wool.
Spent half my life immersed
In starlight...
Outside the windows
Of my room....

Was raised to think
Everything was alright...
But I found out the truth
Much too soon!

Oh,  howl, howl,
Howl at the moon!

Oh, watch the midnight
Blue,  and feel the
Lights surrounding you!
And never wonder if
You'll ever be afraid!

Oh, howl, howl,
Howl at the moon!

We find out our truths much too soon...

Oh, bring me a bottle ,
To bury my worries!
Oh, load me a pipe,

And I'll tell you a story.

A story, a story,
A terrible story,
My life for a story,
Of honor and glory.

Oh, howl, howl, howl,
At the moon!

Either drunk or
Hungover, or waking
Up Blue,

We'll fight till it's over,
Till battle is through;
Till we're beaten and Bloodied,

And covered in mud,

And we march home while
Weary, and spotted with
Blood.

Oh, howl, howl, howl,
At the moon!
A poem that I wrote for some friends of mine in Ukraine and Russia who don't want to fight, but are forced to.
They love the personification of the wolf, and so I made it my job to show people how they feel.
Jeremy Betts Jun 22
Sometimes I think it would be easier
To just give in and be the monster
The one they claim I already am
Just go ahead and put wolves clothing on a lamb
Then that way they can say "I told you so"
And I will play it off like, "I know, I know"

©2024
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