The Flooding of Our Hearts

The ceiling above me in the dimly lit room is all I've looked at for hours. My hospital bed of a resting place for my comatose body. Laying there, lifeless. The half working fan on the desk beside me is the only noise. Then, the alarm sounds. The chimes and vibrations from my phone across the room. I roll over and fall out of bed, forcing myself to turn off the alarm. My eyes drooping with the bags of sleepless nights. Constantly thinking. Of him. "Im trying my best", I keep telling myself as I stumble into the bathroom. Rubbing my eyes whilst looking in the mirror, my sight travels to my wrist. The scars from the last freak out still plainly visible. I sigh, and force myself down the hall to the kitchen.

Swinging open the refrigerator and weakly grasping a bottle of water? Soda? I can't really make it out. All I know is that I need some form of liquid to corse through my body. My skin, dry and barren like the seemingly endless desert. My lips tainted with dead skin and my tongue left rough and rugged from the drought.

Why am I like this? 

What's the point of me living any longer?

I slowly drink the liquid from the bottle. My body being drowned in the rush of liquid state matter. My heart beats faster as I'm sent into coughing fits.

This feral body, wrapped in the cloaks of the misguided, mislead. You see, right through me.