the deep bellowing of the pain in my chest. it comes and goes, comes and goes. stays at the least expected times, and then goes again.
like everything else in my life. comes, and goes. and sometimes i am so used to things going, that i push everything as far away as i can.
i dont talk to you, because you wont understand.
you’ve even admitted to not understanding.
i thought by now, at this age, i would be past teenage methods of relief.
it doesn’t get any better, it only gets worse.
i am digging through old boxes, and old veins, for the relief that quieted everything for brief amounts of time, without fail.
fail. something i do professionally.
except at one insignificant thing.