Self conflicting

I of all know it best this is how it will be. It comes, gives me a few pinch on the left side of my chest, den it goes. Moments later, it repeats itself. Sometimes I feel I'm just so silly to be bothered by it. It doesnt change. Never will. It only shoveled beneath layer after layer. We give in all at the wrong time.

I yearn, I desire. On the other, I'm wistful, deprived, starved. What was I thinking? There were all those laughs and mornings and nites.

This is so fucking irrelevant.