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In the mirror i find myself how did i come to be?
since when did my reflection
take over what makes me.

Who is this crude impostor who uses my eyes to see,
who is this kindred spirit that screams inside of she.

I turn myself from the mirror from her who's trapped within,
but find a wall in front of me and reflected a wicked grin.
just a late night fantasy, I hope everyone is enjoying spooktober x
Blade Maiden Oct 4

This ripe darkness
this mourning dream
a wrenching weakness
fit for the guillotine

An arrangement made
sheer comfort prepared
the end of fate
and, oh, how I dared

This dry paper
this cold pit
an agonising vapor
that smells of blood and spit

'Tis my mind
my wicked flesh
a soul pined
peeled off and fresh

Dressed soft tongued
I raised Cain
being shunned
silenced I remain

This dawning fright
this nightly echo
here comes the blight
light, don't let go
WistfulHope Sep 28
I once felt like words gave me power
Like they gave my quiet shell of a self a leg to stand on
Now I feel like I have none left to speak, to write
I've been drained of verbs and left broken -- immobile
My adjectives fall soft and simple, even the deaf don't pretend to hear
It's strange
Being so far removed from the one you called yourself
I don't know what there is left for me to say
It's like being a young musician on stage
And people have slowly stopped cheering as they realized
You have no more tunes left to play
Yet I've stood frozen, stuck, despite myself
I'm waiting for them to come back
The words
The crowds
The self that I used to know
That I thought I did know
I haven't a clue to where they've left, to where they'll go
But I hope that they find it
The messages they seek
I can no longer provide them
My inkwell bone dry
My spirit missing it's former vibrance, now dully meek
They once called me wicked
I thought it ironically sweet
That for someone so bitter
Many worshiped me
Hiii...
It's been a while, I think, since you all got a nice wordy note from me.

I've been writing poetry for...8? 9? years now... And I've gotta say, I legit cannot tell if I've gotten better or worse. I used to write because I was ****** at life, or violently angry with myself, or if I wanted to do bad things. I don't feel like that anymore. Pretty much never. I've survived some ****, but now (all things considered at least) I'm starting to thrive a bit. When I was at my height of popularity on this site, or at least what my very ****** up and disillusioned perceptions gathered to be the height of it, I was sick. I was having regular dissociative episodes, was severely depressed, engaging in self harm in a variety of forms nearly daily, and very suicidal. If anyone is going through some ****, please seek help, and hold on. I promise it gets better. But yeah. When I was very aggressively using this site as an outlet, I amassed a good sized follower count and trended almost daily. The only poem I ever had make daily poem (which btw was toward the beginning of my worst downward spiral ever) was about hanging myself. Like what the **** lol. But if I helped people -- or even just one someone somewhere -- feel less alone, then I'm glad. But ever since I had started to get better I got less attention here. Which is kinda a weird feeling. I'm not sure if it's cause my writing started to **** or if I got less 'interesting' for lack of a better term, or maybe a mix. Or maybe it's all the changes this site has had over the past 4 years since I joined. Either way, it's weird... I feel like I don't know how to keep writing or improve... Idk, I'm just kinda...
stuck. ...This has been a stream of consciousness.

Anyway, I love you all. And in a special way those of you who have left this world for another. I will never forget you.
Pax,
Wicked
aquis Sep 7
is it a coincidence
that what he fell in love with
is what she always wished
didn’t exist
Love is wicked and ironic, and it can show you how what you always disliked (even hated) about yourself can be one of the very reasons “he” (or she) is head over heals about you - and you start thinking, maybe what you hated so much isn’t that bad after all:)

“We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.“ ☀️
Joey fonseca Aug 29
We allow the wicked run
Kills us rather slow
Through the lights behind our thumbs
Haiku
When I was a fire, no one was here.
I burned inside every day.
And to keep my head sane.
I lay on the ground on the summer sun.
No one wanted to reach out when I gave in to love.
I was so hurt that I slept on top of my wounds.
And now you appear.
To talk about love.
But I ...
I do not want to know about love.
I do not want pain.
I do not want to be part of that wicked game that love.
I want to flow like the sea.
I do not want to feel the love to relax in my dream.
And you insist that I need to fall in love ...
The only thing I need
It's about feeling alive again.
I do not want to sell my brain, for emotions and fantasies.
Romance and poetry
For me they are no more than the fetishes of dreamy people.
I live the reality.
The reality is that love ...
It's a wicked game.
Karisa Brown Aug 11
Sunlight or sacrifice
Why must I choose
This swollen ring
Stuck around
My *******
Has grown too deep

I try and pry it off
Everyday
To make amends
With the wicked
Let not the sun go
Let it grow between
Our toes in the sand

Feel the salt lick your skin
And become attune
With the natural energy
Instead
Manny Jul 31
You're so beautiful
When your cheeks are blushing red
When you look directly in my eyes
With an expression that can't be read
And look where all of this has led
You're lying in my bed, just like I always
pictured in my head.
Your body shivers with excitement
Though your tears are screaming "dread"
Maybe its the breeze you feel, the
windy chill, from hiding in this shed
Or is your body breaking down
It's been three whole days since you've been fed
I had to punish you somehow
The other day you almost fled
now I feel misled, you turn down my love
And run instead
You cry all night, you wont eat bread
You shout and fight and hit your head
against the frame of this old bed.
if only you listened to
Every word I said
There'd be less pain
It's better now if this goes my way
So just play dead
Sorry about this messed up poem.  
I had this idea for a while that I wanted to write a twisted love story about a stalker that kidnapped the girl he is infatuated with.
Sara Kellie Jul 24
You're trouble, you're toil.
Yes, trouble and toil.
With you I think I'll bring to the boil.
A pinch of salt and a teaspoon of oil
but not too much, your taste it'll spoil.

I'll take off your beard.
To eat that would be weird.
But gristle that makes your two knees,
into cracking, oh yes please.

With mint sauce on each cheek
two kebabs that are sheek.
Not keen on the chin
so I hope you don't mind
but that goes straight in the bin.

Chop, chew, swallow and digest.
Can you guess which part
of you I like best?
It's your nose that I grate
all around the edge of my plate
and because I've asked "Please"
that you try not to sneeze.
It makes a much better garnish
than parmesan cheese.

Savoury poetry by Kaydee.
I'm just messing now.
Simra Sadaf Jul 19
in a vigil of longing and yearning,
we are left between time and destiny,
by what might may we subdue time,
for it is leaving, it is a traitor,
by what might may we quell destiny,
for it is wicked, it is deceiving,
in lieu of longing and yearning,
a blade is plunged into our backs,
by what might may we annihilate
the torment of bad faith?
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