Breathing.
Its a simple human function. A need; something we cannot survive without. It's a process of exchanging carbon dioxide and oxygen.
In.
Out.
A slow release; simple yet compulsory.
I bring my lips to the rim of the coffee mug, inhaling the bitter smell as it wakens my senses. It's two forty three in the afternoon and I have just woken up from what seemed like an endless slumber. I really thought I'd gone this time- but then I woke up, and that proved me all wrong once again. I place the china mug down, a small ring in my ears to confirm that it has most definitely been placed on the surface of the table as I stand to my feet. My legs go weak and I stumble, my hand reaching out and grasping onto the side of the table to keep me balanced.
Am I dead yet?
I drag my feet across the wooden floors, a strange yet satisfying feeling running under my toes as I make my way towards the bedroom. It's messy, but I like it. Plus, I'm in my twenties now- no one has the right to tell me what to do. I rummage through the wooden chests, pulling out scrunched up clothes that smell rotten. Sure, I can work the washing machine and clothes line; I just haven't had the time to indulge in luxuries such as fresh clothes. I don't have anyone to impress anyways, so why make an effort? The only person I ever wanted to impress I drove away. It doesn't matter- I don't matter.
I wash and dress, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I pass by. Stubble has begun to seep through the pours in my skin, dark bags shadowing the underneath of my eyes and my skin almost a creamy yellow. I look like Death itself, just with a little more flesh.
Ever since they told me, I've felt a heavy pain in my chest, a lump in my throat and worries have clouded my mind. Words. That was all it took to make me realise that there really is no turning back.
Yeah, I had it all coming.