Red Sky at Night

by Amanda Proscia

She says the turntables made

her cold; 

and she feels

as invincible as Adwa.  


behind her Wayfarers, but you can tell

she likes attention from the color of her nails.

Morals disappearing

more with each movement of the second hand.

A cigarette always burning 

but she never inhales.

Her independence is

off-putting, but she is

just jaded and insecure;

She feels

the force of gravity while standing still. 

Don't hug her cold body, no.

Beats fill

her head with dramatic prose;

she only writes them down to avoid her reality.

The caffeine hides

her weakness; but when she crashes,

she crashes hard.

She stands

in a broken mirror, counting

her ribs.  

But the marks on her arms are

just bruises.  

She traded

in her handbag and heels for

a pack of reds and a fifth of bourbon; 


in liquor only to drown the next morning.

Because sailor's delight isn't

as enchanting as it used

to be.