Sick

I lay there, clear liquid forming and falling out the sides of my eyes, hands firmly shaking as I place them on my chest in an attempt to calm my heart.
This attempt fails quite splendidly and a shortness of breath ensues as I stare up at the ceiling; helpless.
How could this turn so quickly, without warning? I feel hunger, emptiness at the bottom of my stomach – I wonder silently if it is a hunger which can be eased by food or by comfort. I wish it could be filled by the former.
Scared sick as I lay there, alone in the darkest room, I can barely see my hand if I display it right in front of my face; it drops back down to my heaving chest, calm seeming fatally elusive.

My legs are restless, they move involuntarily, up and down, up and down, stretching, I can’t adjust myself for some comfort, comfort; I am aware of its scarcity as well.
Losing something, feeling it slip away, slowly; uncontrollably. There is uncertainty, perhaps some sparkle of hope left in my care, I know there is, yet I am
Shaking, empty, helpless, hysterical, fevered:
Sick.