The Untitled Poem by Latasha LeeAnn Hall

Cannot hide, although I tried
From the affliction that engulfs me.
Percept to the eyes of the pyre, bodies lost to fire,
My mind lost in the ruins.
Not worthy enough to be a ploy, not even a toy.
Nothing.

My context very well became my prison; the synchronism.
Awaken my body,
Fill my spirit. Do not rip into it.
It's too late.
My body is dead, my soul in shreds;
Flesh cut to pieces.

It all adds up, that's why I'm so messed up.
You wonder why?
Works of righteousness, a god becomes self-atheist.
No faith in himself.
He eats damnation to his soul, loses all control,
Expels his own children.

And the Lamb of god, he's such a fraud.
Evil saints.
He loves to touch your child, makes him so wild;
Arousing his sin.
Defends himself by sophism and tribalism.
Exalted above all.

He always gets a slap on the wrist, now I'm pissed.
Cataclysmic failure.
Visit my catacomb, my dark dead home.
Don't touch me again.
Coerce me and tie me, if that's how it is to be.
Restrained for death.

I'm still bound, by no one I have been found.
Stole my purity.
Then I met the White Son, and his lovely gun.
He freed me.
He shot the saint, we watched the god faint.
Now we're gone.

We've gotten lost in our love, pure as a dove.
Everyone almost forgotten.
Except now they try to force us apart; it's eating my heart.
Why can I not die?
I'm going to kill them; please, let's rid of them
Before they destroy us.

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(3-15-2009
It was finished in my room.)