Super Fruit Sativa Strain

My toes are cold.
My heels are tense.
My ankles feel pressure.
My calves and thighs reverberate.
My hips swap and dip.
My ass knocks things off tables.
My knees seem sore.
My vagina is pulsing.
My stomach is churning and screaming.
My back hangs in there like a champ considering the weight of it all.
My fingers cascade across keyboard keys in the darkness.
My arms are flabby and relaxed.
My nipples are sensitive.
My chest is in peacock mode.
My lungs are full of smoke I inhaled.
My heart is drumming.
My lips are biting and licking and sucking themselves.
My neck couldn’t be tighter.
My eyes have astigmatism.
My forehead interests anthropologists.
My brain is dreaming.
My brain is calculating.
My brain is fighting.
My brain is scheming.
My brain is playing tennis with lying.
My brain is killing me.
My brain is weary and fearful.
My brain is telling you about everything else that I feel throughout my body and auto-correcting.
My mind is lonely.
But my mind loves show tunes.
So my mind is hopeful.
My mind is in love with love.
My mind is confused all of the time now regardless.
But my spirit is stronger than ever.
My spirit is Spartan and Zulu and Mayan and Cherokee and Ming.
My spirit is mindful.

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