The Unbelievable weight of breathing

At times these years in repetitive succession, I find myself in absent sense of memory of breath. I stop breathing not remembering the basic instinctive function. My mind occupied, I fail to breath, my land occupied, I fail to breath. Every second waking in mourning spent from occupying events. And as I pass from this reality out into a state of being not my own, I breath once again from habit and need but not from conscience activity. And again remain occupied.