by Rochelle Roberts || The forest, large-eyed, dank and disordered.
Rochelle Roberts You, with teeth and white boredom,tangled in my sheets, your fingers stuffed inside, as though you think I might enjoy it. I pretend to be a hollowed-out tree, bear-furred around the wound, yourprofile reminding me of old grievancesrattling around my head like loose teeth. I hate the coldness of your lips on myindifferent skin. My body sinks [...]