By Twyla Lidén

My toes curled up.

My feet sweaty yet cold.

My calves covered in blonde hairs out in the open.

My knees leaning on each other, they’re just there.

My thighs half covered, half free. My butt getting more numb by the second as all weight is on its precious cushions.

My lower back cramping up as if I have someone kneading it with gloves made out of sandpaper.

My belly is full and satisfied, just ate some fried risotto balls.

My bellybutton all clean and fresh, it’s an innie and needs to be checked once in a while.

My shoulders tired and weak.

My chest irritated at my head for contracting the flu.

My nose with its new nickname cornflake.

My throat with an itch so far down it can only be scratched with something that I don’t have.

My ears blocked, just like when I hear ignorant people talk.

My lips cracked like a butthole after a too spicy curry.

My eyes feel like they’re high without the reward.

My hair is nice and pretty, even though it’s all dead particles anyways. Haha, a bit ironic, the best part is dead.