Gooey

Sometimes I'm normal. Sometimes, I say that I'm fine, and I don't become a liar. Sometimes, I wish that was me all the time.
And then, sometimes, I'm gooey. It isn't as cool as it sounds. It's just like I'm melting, like my body is pooling on the floor. My wrists are so gooey that my hands fall to the ground and they drag behind me. My chest is gooey to - it's as if you could reach right through it, if you're okay with getting goo on your hands.
Nobody notices when you're gooey.