Describe

Fingertips sting. Battered, from nervously scraping away, anxious fingers, hidden beneath my desk. Nails so short they almost bleed. My pointer fingers, at least. The rest are chipped and uneven, as the blue nailpolish. My fingers have to do something. I don't bite my nails, I wear them away. It's not a pretty sight. But they don't look as bad as they did earlier. But still sting.

The linger flavor of cookies tastes sour on my tongue, like morning breath and too little to drink. A bad taste. My stomach process the sweet, flour and chocolate.. Not a positive feeling, but it doesn't hurt me, or I don't feel it much. My shoulders feel stiff, nothing unusual. Always feel stiff. Warmth sticks to my body like a blanket, uncomfortably smothering me beneath it, not letting any cool air come close.

My hair is a masked clean. Fake. Babypowder. Ever heard of that? When your hair is terrible, and you have no time, you can hide it with babypowder. Rub it into your hair, and it looks soft, hiding the fact that it's dirty. My hair curls slightly, looking like I'd slept on it, as always. Stretch backwards, letting out a long yawn. Sigh quietly, slip off shoes. The warmth still smothers you.