An Angels Tragedy

Not really dying

I miss the days when I wasn't sighing the breaths I was unaware of holding, as if I forgot to breath, or if maybe I thought I will never belong to breathing.
Perhaps I will never be worthy of this oxygen others are so greedy about
That perhaps I am not deserving of the air that keeps my fragile heart pumping and my heavy ridden chest rising
Perhaps I am not forgetting to breath
Perhaps my body as grown so accustomed to holding my breath in so snug that my mind grows heavy, my head begins to the thump with a steady pulse, and all I can think about is that I too am in need of this drug called oxygen
I too am just as greedy
Perhaps I allow it back into my system because I do not actually want to die
I may never know the answer to this so common question
Perhaps it is because I started so young with the wishes of dying that with any minor inconvenience I believe it is the only option