No, wait, that hurts.
Fingers that protest each time I press the keys. they wimper and seep having endured a few days of being raked across sandpaper edges. They quiver, asking me " really? this again? I thought this was in the past"
Palm calluses that soften and break off as shiny and crystallized tips sparkle in the fire light.
A set of lungs that are in a war against my back ribs, when I breath in they expand, ripping and irritating thier tender housing. I can feel the weight of my muscles, the transition has begun.
The simple act of turning a book's page causes me to consider closing my eyes and falling over.
Showers, even when available seem unnecessary.
My mind is soft, my body is... getting harder.
Sexy, I know.