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Raghu Menon May 2018
It's dry
It's pale yellow
It's devastating
It's hot and
It's a wicked summer

With drawing all energy
With it's dry, dusty winds
With all vegetation turning pale and wilted

The birds are silent
They are somewhere not visible
Hiding in the little shadows and shades

The trees are still
The plants are withering
The road-side bush wilted and dry

The lips are dry
The skin is rough
The throat is burning...

How long is this going to last
Looking at the sky,
For some clouds which are scanty

Let that summer rain come
And change this wicked summer
Into a soothing experience ..

Till then...

It's dry
It's pale yellow
It's devastating
It's hot and
It's a wicked summer
adriana May 2018
my lipstick matches
the color of your blood on
my manicured hands.
Eve Apr 2018
This world is a very wicked place
Made so by nasty and wretched people
But it is kept so by the quiet and frail ones.

-fir.m
Jas Apr 2018
Terrors collected behind the barb and glass
Rising from the chimney of the lantern
In surfing shadows along each wall
He plunged in to slumber emphatically,
And they followed him there.


                                  ~ Mom & Dad
letters from Fears
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2018
Five long years I gave you
I will never gain back
Waiting for a careless driver
To get his life on track

Your plan did not include slowing down
You swore you would stop but you lied
As soon as I buckled my seatbelt
You swerved, I was then stuck for the ride

The road was bumpy, we flew too fast
I was scared the brakes would go out
Careening and navigating blind corners
Lack of concern filled me with doubt.

Each broken traffic law
Proof of your foolish bravery
I begged you to switch down a gear
Hand over the ignition key

Full of pride, you refused to change seats
Convinced me I was safer riding shotgun
Promised this lengthy joy ride was over
That your old wicked ways were done

Should have never gotten into your car
I see now you are addicted to the speed
You always choose the dangerous road
What you want not what you need

I eventually grabbed the steering wheel
We collided; a frightening flash
Now we are injured survivors
Trying to heal wounds left by this crash
You are always in the driver's seat, you just might not know it.
This uncle was so un-cool to his little niece
every night comes with an endless movement of push- up's on her delicate skin
Her legs torn apart in his own apartment
As he advance to take advantage of her little age..
Ssshhhhhh! BE SILENT
Uncle didn't stop until he broke her *****..
ARE YOU A KID?
WHAT DO I GET FOR PAYING YOUR SCHOOL FEES?
This questions and many more was his key to the vault between her legs..
It just there month pass and her stomach is already raising to the challenge
Her womb bore the evident of his Crime..
Don't panic... He said..
I know a doctor that can take lives
just an injection and a few pills
you be alright..
Buh sadly this were the last pills she ever took...
UNCLE HAS DESTROYED TWO INNOCENT LIVES
I can't hold a conversation with them
They spit each word with their own hurt
They come to me hurling my own agony
They are wicked and cruel
I will not shed a tear yet
The clock will strike midnight
I might shed a tear
I might just let my agony turn into anger
Cruel and wicked are their intentions
I bite my own tongue and keep quiet
If I become numb to my emotions
What will I become
When midnight comes
I'll be numb
-- this is a way for me to vent my emotions a few days ago I will not edit or change anything it's what I was thinking and going through in that moment
written on:14/03/18
Wicked Mar 2018
The notebook beneath my hands
holds all my secrets
My fears and my hopes
My dreams and my nightmares
My pride and my shame

The pen between my fingers
bleeds ink onto the pages
My thoughts flow through it
My emotions flood through it
My feelings shoot through it

The pages enclosed in it
are tattooed with the years
My childhood marked on them
My youth etched on them
My adolescence carved on them

This notebook is filled
with things that make me
My history
My present
My life
Wicked Mar 2016
People are like snowflakes
At first they seem to be the same
A look closer reveals
No two are the same
In the end they were small
Just blips in oblivion
But every one is just as beautiful as the last

Their words are inky imprints in time
Like footprints in the snow they leave trails
To places beyond ourselves
Their words can be loud
Their words can be quite
They can be heard by two or millions
But each is just as powerful as the last
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