Punctuation

type-one

2:47a
I am awake again.
I can't feel anything God gave me,
Because I'm too busy feeling everything Satan has.
I can't lift my head or my legs or my torso.
My phone lays where I left it, sleeping beside me in bed.
In the cranny between my bed and the table, my hands fumble for my life line.
Tonight it's either expired fruity snacks that some how still taste good, or smarties.
I say smarties without an accompanying explanation because everyone knows I now abhor their flavor.
All of my days spent riding these mountains, scaling their sides from where I found myself, deep within their valleys.
I used them as my pick-me-up...
And now we're all paying for it.
I think of all of the food I want to eat, while trembling in my cold sweat.
My eyelids grow heavy again, a chill runs down my spine, I'm ready to sleep.....
But this body of mine isn't.
The numbers are still red and my body still feels like it is crawling with ants.
My head spins, all thoughts jumbled into chicken noodle soup...which sounds incredibly delicious right now despite my hatred for it.
I am living this life and stuck living it on repeat.
I want to sleep.
"Keep me awake" I plead with someone who's still fast asleep, as they should be.
I can't wait for the day when someone is sleeping beside me so that I can feel comfortable, safe, secure.
I can't wait for the day I have someone who will talk to me when I fall below my line.