It 60 The alarm goes off. You hit snooze. 6:10 The alarm goes off. You hit snooze 6:20 It begs you to stay in bed; for you to feel its false warmth. But you have to get going. Should you wear black or yellow today? It tells you you're hideous in both. You look in the mirror. The distorted image would be hilarious if you were in a fun house. At least, that's what it makes you think. You tentatively approach your friends. It reminds you: "They don't like you, but they're too polite to say it. You're nothing but a burden." You tell it to shut up. It doesn't. You're worn down by noon. It suggests you take a siesta. You tell It you're going to grab some food. As you eat, It whispers: "You shouldn't be eating that, you shouldn't be eating that much." You arrive home, knowing you should clean your room, make dinner, all that stuff. It sits you down on the couch for a Netflix binge. You can do your chores later. It's 90 at night. You just realized your forgotten responsibilities. Oh well, too late to do them now. It drags you up to bed, forces you to glance at your reflection. It points out how ugly it is. You want to sleep, you want so desperately to exit real #life and enter your wildest dreams. Instead, It pokes at your side as you stare blankly for hours at the white stucco ceiling. It eggs you on, getting louder and louder: "You can do it. Do it. Everyone's alseep. This is your chance. Go on. Go. Damnit, hurry up. Don't act like the world's gonna miss you!" The worst part? It becomes normal. _______ ~ C. Gallagher