Sickly

I can’t play on my phone anymore. Because the screen hurts like a laser in my eyes. I can’t watch TV anymore. Or read. Or think. But I’m not bored. My mom is confused. She doesn’t understand. Why I’m so petulant. Refusing to sleep. Because I might wake up with no limbs. This bed, It hurts, Like someone is scratching my back. But if I stand, I get dizzy. From lack of food and sleep. So it’s better to lie still. Even if I can’t relax. It’s better to speak softly, Instead of scream. So my mom won’t worry. But she might be already worried. Or angry because I’m being weird. Or angry because I’m being needy. So I must lie in bed and feel the glare of my full length mirror. So I must lie in bed, As if I’m sick. As if I am shaking, and shivering, and pale. And maybe I am.