On his lips

the back and forth of darkening vowels

sets my thighs dripping like slow jazz

He buys me a second drink and I can feel my lips

unfastening like a black corset

Newspaper says the last girl

was strangled with her own scarf

and put out with the garbage

like a botched abortion

It has been 200 days since my hands have touched

another living thing

The grainy image on a security camera

tells my future better than tarot or tea leaves

His hands on my throat an electric shock

the color of rubies






Amber Decker is an undergraduate student majoring in English literature. Her writing has been featured internationally in numerous publications, both in print and online, and her latest full-length collection of poems is Lost Girls. Currently, she lives with her husband in the eastern panhandle of West Virginia where she watches werewolf movies and wastes countless hours playing video games. She blogs semi-regularly at