This story contains adult themes and is not appropriate for young or sensitive readers.
I met Sarkas at a club called Pose. Rolling on molly, eager to swallow the world, dancing with our hips
...
[+]
All day I sit and
I stare
with my eyes downcast and
my shoulders approaching my ears.
Every once in a while my
awareness returns
and I swiftly push my
chest out and straighten my
spine, but in five minutes
or less
I will return to my
seemingly natural positioning.
I wonder why my back
hurts. I ponder
the crick in my
neck. I lift
my shoulders higher
as the night grows colder,
pull my knees to my chest
and fit my chin between them.
I sleep in a similar position.
My arms wrap me up
like a birthday present,
left loose
enough so that I can
crack my neck
fingers and
toes every couple of minutes.
I need to get up to crack my back.