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Emma Feb 16
Tell no secrets of mine
And I won’t pull you into the corporeal.
Forget the taste of life I left on your lips,
The wine of my blood you drank as an offering,
The honey of my skin.
Speak not of what was given too freely,
Memories that should have suffered our same demise.
Speak not my name.
If not for me, then for fear that I know your name too
And how to use it against you.
Emma Feb 15
Thunk, clack,
There is the sound of brick laid on brick,
Their harsh edges meeting as you build a wall.
P-R-O-T-E-C-T Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F,
The Gameshow.
The audience knows when the lights flash to repeat the words.
Their enthusiasm is a bloodlust,
And you are just waiting for the blood mist,
A knife in your ribs,
You build a wall.
Emma Feb 2
Behind six feet of glass,
You watch the sharks swim,
And know that you would be left in ribbons by them.
But the water is impossible blue,
And you’ve forgotten wetness.
Your fingers tap—
On the glass, considering.
For a moment,
You see cracks spiderwebbing.
For a moment,
You imagine the glass breaking, water rushing out.
You can see the sharks lying on the floor,
Gills fluttering futilely, bodies struggling under the weight of themselves,
While your clothes lie heavy against your slick skin,
But you think of their eyes, unblinking, uncomprehending,
So you stay behind six feet of glass,
Forgetting what pain feels like,
Along with everything else.
Emma Jan 22
1) We f*cked to be less lonely.
2) In unbroken silence, lips slowly fuse.
3) Strings at my wrists, tied inescapably.
4) Without speaking, I turned to stone.
5) Left ribboned, abandoned on the floor.
6) Behind glass, bulletproof, subject to unreality.
Emma Dec 2020
Head buzzing with recriminations, I’m lost.
2. Tired of abandonments, I left early.
3. A fork: the answer or unknown?
4. Stinging hornet knives slash ocean sharp.
5. *******. Now ******* silence deafens.
Emma Dec 2020
Lingering past expiration dates,
the fridge smells
and you ****.

Black clouds don’t lift,
they loiter, intruding,
circling the drain.
Emma Aug 2020
I thought you loved. You left.
2. I reached. Fingers brushed. Warmth built.
3. Cloud of angry words. Still standing.
4. Finger guns shoot... red blood runs.
My favourite six word story is Margaret Atwood’s, but I think Hemingway’s is more famous.
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