sleep legs

redshoes

All I wanted to think about was how I hated the feeling of the way my legs felt the million pin pricks of sleep that I’d imagined once, years and years ago, were a million ants slowly devouring my skin, eager to make their way deep into my core, where all the good meaty stuff was. Throughout elementary then onto high school, I’d always been troubled by the way my legs never cooperated when they weren’t in use, first with their ant-ish crawling, then fading to complete numbness that took ages to clear. It was almost like they were protesting their lack of use, refusing to even remain part of the body if they weren’t moving. Like my mind, my legs hated just sitting around.

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