An embarrassment of riches harass the stitches of my ironically skinny jeans.
Stressed seams, seem to stress the gravity of my mass.
My wide uncooked meat feet spread wider as I apply the entirety of my weight.
A faint smile masks a wince, since my back is being attacked by a lack of horizontal relief.
My callused hands give way to Golden sands.
Tanned forearm, a foreword to an absurdly white upper.
A gingernut dipped in yoghurt.
My front.
Like a stunt man's crash mat.
Post-crash.
Portly,
'Ought he not go on a healthy regimen?'
'He's a rather large specimen.'
I'm largely in agreement.
I'm watching my consumption.
With the assumption being that I'll be seeing a change in my state, and one day a thinner face reflected in a much smaller plate.
