well-rested

i'm sick of breathing in the smoke of my mental illness's cigarettes the smell is on my clothes i'm freezing, it's not winter yet but my fingers and toes are shivering beneath these sheets and i feel so alone i don't want to die, i want to sleep but no matter how hard i try, i never feel well-rested i'm weeping in these clothes the same ones i wore yesterday but even worse, i know that i won't have the energy to change or bathe or slow my heartbeat down to something normal struggling to breathe i wish that i could just be fine, but but no matter how hard i try, i never feel well-rested but no matter how hard i try, i never feel well-rested