Emma likes words. Sometimes she creates art made up of words.
You wanted to see me again, I wasn't sure how it might end. Already preparing for a loss. We'll play cat and mouse, while we exaggerate stories
By Emma Clark5 years ago in Poets
It is some great mystery to me that the best sleeps are on the couch at 1am, no matter how cosy, cotton-wooled, clean-kept your bed sheets sit;
Not on the beach or in a villa, not on the tube or a train, not in the sun in a park in East London, or at Borough Market in the weekend rain,
Is the pain I feel the same as yours? Tender, instantaneous gore, throws a shudder across my body. Intravenous imagery;
Oh Mabel what have you done now? You’ve caused a scene the only way you know how. Snap out of it, rise up, feel the weight of permanent presence.
Hot girls aren’t funny, can’t be funny That’s what you said Rich red On my face Like the fist of wit More painful than I admit.
