NO ROOM HERE

I. Feel. Bad.

Last night, Kofi Asamoah asked me to marry him; and I said no.

Last week, Kofi Asamoah took me shopping and now my wardrobe is a dam, bursting with colourful waterfalls.

Last month, Kofi Asamoah drew a kiss on my lips, while he entrenched a key into my sweaty palm.
And now my arms jiggle and my stomach bulges with milky flesh, afterall, I hardly walk anymore.