Caught in a Dry Dream Spell

"Wake up."
"Wake up!"

Can't I peacefully go to sleep without the trembling thoughts of how I can't sleep?
Holding my head, I scream.
No one's there.

If a crazed man screams in an empty home, does he make a sound?

My body is pulsing.
The anxiety is settling in.
Either I sleep or die.
The hormones in rest and depression are the same.

I want to fall asleep and wake up to my last day on earth.
I'm so tired, but I'm only 20.
But if I died now I'd never see who was the next president,
so I live with my mom sedating myself with pop melancholic TV
until my eyes swell with tears,
soothing my burning eyes and I close my lids.

I have intriguingly plain dreams since I don't get out anymore.
I lie down in the piercing daylight.
Mom, tell it to go away.

I am happy knowing that if I can sleep 20 hours a cycle,
I could sleep my life away.

But then, there's friendship and companionship no less
the few times I escape my state of mind.
Do I want friends?
I don't know.
Do I want a companion?
Aspies like me when mostly always they find love, that is enough.
That is society enough.