A Roach

By Georgia Bowan

What do you think about when you’re alone?

When the bulb is dim and nobody can crack into the fractures of your skull. When they can’t see behind the glazed eyes.

Do you think about whether her legs are pricked with stubble or her weight is crushing your pelvis? The light from under the doorway or a chipped tooth on concrete. Maybe there was plaster bewteen the bathroom tiles, grey or brown or sandy colours, the gunk gathers and spreads.

The rot consumes.

I was asking you what makes you feel but I fear your gaze was distracted by something else. A new type of venus fly trap or maybe a nude woman online. Thought about a girl serving sandwiches in the quad of your building or whether her legs are pricked with stubble, whether her legs are pricked with stubble, whether her legs are pricked.

I think of the roach when I’m alone.

It’s crawling up the walls and into the crevices of my exterior. If its ever going to get inside my mouth, through the windpipe, lay eggs in my stomach. I think about it all the time when the bulb is dim and I’m all alone.