I want to become so fat that my thighs pain me terribly when I walk because they’re rubbing so hard against each other, my butt bouncing uncontrollably with each step, cellulite pumping up and down. I want my ankles to be so swollen they’re indistinguishable from my legs. I want my knees to ache with each movement. I want my stomach to dangle to the floor, grazing the cold tile as I painfully make my way to the fridge for a snack. I want my breasts to hang as low as my belly used to before I became so large, so low I can no longer fit into a bra. I want my hands to be round and my fingers pudgy, only good for grabbing fistfulls of whatever food is close by. I want my arms to be flabby and heavy, barely able to move up beyond where they naturally hang. I want my back to be covered in rolls. I want my shoulders to be rounded. I want my neck to dissolve into my chest. I want a triple chin in its place. I want my cheeks to be plump and my eyes straining to see because of the swelling beneath them. I want to be panting and gasping for air by the time I reach the fridge. I want to realize then and there that my knees and ankles are about to give out. I want to become completely immobile for the rest of my life, content to enjoy food and my wonderful body in all its glory from the comfort of my mattress. Nothing else matters.
blakekathryn
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
romaincrisis
2087
