thoughts on the true state of one's body 'at rest'
》》》
My fingertips graze the cold glass of my phone's screen
Every minute passes, the cold glass becomes warm
Radiation seeps through the ultraviolet coated layer of my glasses
My eyes enraptured by whatever shows on the screen
I hear my name called from outside,
Outside the confines of my little room
My name, an unfamiliar word
My name, monotonous in sound
Annoyance fills my head
"What?!" I call out in dread
Another useless chore given
Something that whoever called my name can definitely do
My fingertips drop the now warm block called a phone
It bounces on my bed,
Signaling its warmth to go cold
My unfamiliar name, once called again, pounds in my head
I sluggishly do the given chore
Giving me a bore, my eyes roll
All I want is to lay sprawled out on the couch
My back on soft cushions, that gives out the urge to just relax
Yet how do you relax?
Does one ever really relax?
Even if they're sprawled out on the bed, a phone in hand
Their mind doesn't relax, their brain still pounding, pondering over their own unfamiliar name
