It strokes my neck hair
Traces the angles of my skin
Horrid reflection
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from Emma Weir and writers in Poets and other communities.
Shadow, scream my name! Recognise your fading—not Blindness come for me.
By Emma Weir3 months ago in Poets
I have dug my fingers so deep into my arteries That I can taste the hemorrhaging pain of last decade's memories. What a silly little way to pass time, shredding my neurons
By Silver Daux5 days ago in Poets
Attention: This is not a drill. The internet has a virus, and it's set to kill. The words are cracked with hate, and they're making minds a meal.
By A. S. Lawrence5 days ago in Poets
The courtroom is a stiff, municipal box. The kind of place where people argue about fences and parking violations. The witch sits at the defense table, hands folded, expression neutral.
By Kristen Keenon Fisher7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.