Demonology by Amber Decker

A week after our fight, I dreamed
a mutual friend called to tell me
you were dead,
that you had finally done it, put the gun
to your head and pulled the trigger,

simple as scratching an itch
you’d felt creeping
under your skin for years
since she’d gone, taken your son

and left you floundering
in the dark with her name
still balanced like a cigarette
on your lips.

When I woke, I scrolled
through my phone
until I found the photo of you
leaning into me
with your big, sad eyes,
watched the lights
in the house flicker
as I hit delete.

To think, I’d gone to school
to be a healer
and did not feel like one
until you told me
that holding me
made you feel human again.

There is little in this world
that has ever frightened me.

The Ouija board in the attic
refuses to speak your name,
but the roses in the garden
won’t stop screaming.


Amber Decker is a thirty-something poet and musician from West Virginia. She is a lover of comic books, horror culture, good wine, tattoos, and rock and roll. Her latest collection of poems, The Girl Who Left You, is available from California’s notorious Six Ft. Swells Press.


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