Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
olive Oct 2017
Such a little baby,
So green and so small,
Think of how crazy,
No one wants her at all.

Some say that she’s vile,
Some say that she’s cruel,
But all the while,
This just gives her more fuel.

Though all the things said,
The girl does not crack,
All this has led,
To a knife in her back!

They say that she’s wicked,
It’s chaos they’ve brought,
Her aura is livid,
Wicked’s something she’s not!

She is not all these things,
Her compassion shines true,
All the hurt that it brings,
Makes her look like a fool.

In a panic and a hurry,
Her whole life is changed,
The girl now must scurry,
In fear of being caged.

She runs and she flies,
To a place far away,
For herself now she cries,
She’s safe for the day.

No one is born wicked,
It’s something you become,
Though she’s been afflicted,
She is still full of love.
Seema Sep 2017
Your love gave life to my dead soul
Burnt and buried, it was all ashes and coal
Your love flamed the coal into fine gold
I feel so warm in this wicked cold

You wiped away my streaming tears
Hugged me tight to reassure from fears
I saw you after many painful years
The dark clouds over my head slowly clears

Just love is what my heart feeds on
The hunger to be loved has come upon
Lonesome life has left and long gone
My heart completely healed from being torn

The happiness has returned with reason
He promised to stay, no matter what the season
No longer my soul feels to be in a dark prison
All is well now,
      for my life is growing with the right person...


©sim
Fiction
Izzy Jul 2017
Endless void of articulate delusions and vicious delirious,
Dark thoughts fills crippled lungs;
Calling, screaming, find the truth,
To society shadow, the putrefied soul.

Wicked mind, weeping life,
Monstrous thoughts, haunt the mind,
Depression, misery, sees me right,
In this depraved time we call night.

Nefarious illusions of weak land;
Weep, beg, for the execution of men;
This articulate delusions hold the hand,  
Of the black torch of burned plans.

The archetype of flawless man,
See the day of the mystic shine,
Created by love of bright schemes,
And Annihilated by the thought of wicked minds.

Such Reapers haunt the barren lands,
In search for one, true light;
Mist riddled, hidden in sight,
It transforms the mind to unparalleled cry.
A poem I made a while ago. -Izzy
Seema Jul 2017
She, who hides in the shadows
Wearing several mask on her face
Observe her rigid scaly hands
She lives in a dark lonely place
Away from the wickedness
In her own world of sorrow
Each day she gets near a grave
Doubting if the sun will rise tomorrow
Her eyes, sunken like a dried well
Neither a single drop of tear,
Pours down her wrinkled face
Nor a single sign of worry and fear,
One can ever imagine to trace
It's hard to tell, what weighs more
As my eyes sees her outside pain
Inside must be a ruin of memories
Like a barren land, without rain
She lost everything and everyone
Now she's almost like a living tomb
The landslide during an earthquake
Buried her family in the natures womb
Once lively, full of lifes happiness
One disaster, and everything fell apart
Shocked of being alive and alone
Shattered was her fragile heart...

©sim
I wrote this, after I watched few documentaries based on earthquake and how people suffer the aftermath. When nature gets angry, it never shows any remorse or sorry!
nina Jun 2017
dilated pupils
so far the eye turns black
darkness triumphs
& the demons are out to play
twisted, wicked smile
she's laughing
crooked, backward
crawling, digging
making home
inside the crevices of my brain
i'm laughing
skeleton fingers
curled around my rib cages
picking apart my insides
a heart?
oh, you don't need this my dear...
the bones in my spine
crick, crack, break
i cannot bend back any further
she's smiling
always so happy to take over
a prisoner to my own body
living inside my head
as i watch through
the barred windows they call my eyes
i am hypnotized by her
she's evil
yet somehow so beautiful
as she rips hearts away
& swallows souls whole
playing with the leftover blood
leaving behind nothing but ash,
a kiss,
& a smirk
all i do is watch
all i do is smile
as she destroys me
all i do is wait
until she's done
& i awake from the evil
haunting my mind
but over the years
my brain has decayed
& i isolate myself
so she's become bored.
with nothing left to play with,
she's starting to pack her things
to find a home with better toys
but i'll always be fascinated
by her evil ways
melli7 May 2017
There are precious few at ease
with moral ambiguities,
so we act as though they don't exist.







              ---Wizard of Oz in "Wicked," lyricist Stephen Swartz
Sierra Primus Feb 2017
"Wicked" is a witch that you hear stories about on Halloween.
It is the step-mother that keeps you locked in a dungeon
Or the half-sibling that nominates you to be the royal scapegoat when they **** up.

"Wicked" is not you.
It is not the sincerity in your voice when you say "I love you"
Or the warmth of your hand when you trace the battle scars on my skin
Or the soothing calm that tells me "everything is going to be just fine".

"Wicked" is the other half that leaves imprints in the walls when it doesn't get it's way.
It is the sharpened tongue that has me cowering in the corner,
Waiting for the cyclone of words to pass.
It is the crack in the otherwise perfect glass that is your soul, the proof that no one is truly perfect.

"Wicked" is not you.
At least, not in public.
Not where there are eyes other than my own.

So tell me, then...
What is "wicked" to you?
Next page