This morning my muscles and bones are rusty metal with stiff, scrapey hinges and joints.
They are held together not with tendons of elastic, squishy goo, but dry old yellowing fabric that just tears when stretched.
I try to visualise warm oil, running through my body, lubricating the stiff, achey, immobile moving parts. But only manage a slight trickle.
So much for mind control.
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