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 Nov 2017 Emma
mythie
ghost.
 Nov 2017 Emma
mythie
They're laughing.
Smiling.
Being happy.
Happy Happy Happy.

It's hot in here.
Marshmallows being roasted near a fire.
Presents being put down.
Cards on trees.

It smells like family.
It smells like relations.
It smells like happiness.
It smells like living.

I can't touch them, I can't.
It hurts.
Every Christmas hurts.
The smell of eggnog fills the air.

They sit at the table and pray.
My mother weeps.
It's been three years.
She's not over it.

I want to cradle and hold her.
Tell her it's okay.
Tell her I'm alright.
But I'm not alright.

She can't see me.
Nobody can.
Not even myself.
It hurts.

Every Christmas I relive the same thing.
The flashing lights.
The horns.
The sirens.

The sound of my spine cracking in the all wrong places.
The sound of my mother crying in the ambulance.
The sound of my siblings arguing with doctors.
The sound of my life support being pulled.

It's alright, I'm here.
Christmas can continue.
Just hold me and tell me it's okay.
I need to talk.

Someone.
Anyone.
 Nov 2017 Emma
Kinsey Williams
Seriously, the guy looks like a Greek god.
The spitting image of Zeus, himself.

I trip over words and feelings every time he’s around.
A fumbling mess of, “Hey, how are you?” and “I read your horoscope last night.”

A vibrant pulse of jitters and excitement, because every time I see him I think, “This is it, this is the day he notices me.”
But it isn’t.

I feel like a bubblegum fairy in a world with an abundance of light and dandelions…
Is that stupid?
 Nov 2017 Emma
zero
She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.

You never gave consent.
You even said No.

She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?

She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.

She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.

Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.
Abuse in calming rooms of peace,
with people you once loved.

Watch out for the screams,
they're muffled underwater.

-Z.xo
 Nov 2017 Emma
Jesus Johnson
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It’s almost soothing to listen to the nothingness.
Is this what death feels like?
The final release of all of your problems and responsibilities.
Is it really this peaceful?
No. There’s something....missing.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
There’s nothing here.
No comfort, no acceptance.
Just empty space as I look out into the black.
How did I not see it sooner?
This place is maddening.
Where has everyone gone?
Where is the love? The joy?

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Happiness is a facade.
A wall easily broken through only to find the truth.
Darkness, loneliness, hatred, regret.
Why am I like this?

Drip. Drip. Drip.
I wish I could go back to innocence.
I wish I was beautiful.
Why am I not beautiful?
I never chose to be a hideous monster.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Why am I not white?
Never accepted for not being pure.
Always leaving dark handprints on the fair skin of this earth.
Polluting the air every time I exhale.
I’m disgusting in the eyes of the clean.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
What is this noise?
Oh. I see. There’s little time left.
The blood no longer pours out like a fountain.
Just drips likes a broken faucet.

Drip..........drip.
There’s not much time.
Lucy is close, hands extended.
Ready to grasp me into his mighty hands.
I feel myself slipping.

Drip.....................drip.
I want you to know I did my best.
I’m done struggling. I’m ready.


Drip...................................drip.
....
...
..­
.

Drip.

Death.
That’s all there is in the end.
I’m empty.
 Nov 2017 Emma
The Noose
15:19
 Nov 2017 Emma
The Noose
I stopped writing about love
When I realised  
I am incapable of
Discerning between people who love me
And people who lie to me.

— The End —