What can only be described as the sound of velcro being ripped away from felt, was similar to the way I ached when you walked away.

Quick  almost painless but a slow burn as the feeling settled.
Then, nothingness.

But as I try to peel the bandaid away like my protective shield being dropped. The wound you left isn't as visible.

If I press hard enough, my faded memories come back.

pain that I know all too well.

Then I realize no matter how hard I try to heal, the sensation will always be prominent. The scar may be gone but your dark memory lingers.

"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?

I wasn't always sleeping when you were gone.
At times when I heard the door shut, I rose.
You see I was terrified of John,
He crept up in my room; lightly stepping on his toes.

Not knowing if he was mad he'd say "come here!"
Always listened, for I heard the cries at night.
The house was drenched in fear.
Twenty one years have gone by and I still recall the fight.

Blood dripping from her shoulder.
Tears falling from her cheek.
That is when I built up anger! (aaaahhh)
My brother and I weren't strong enough to take on his physique.

All we could do was stare as he desperately tried to bring her down.
She used the wall as leverage.
John all while losing stamina for the takedown.
My mum stood her ground and tired the beast with unforeseen courage!

I'd take endless casualties to stand by your side
even if the gun's always in your hand
when it comes down to ride or die