Con Consequence Consequence

Yet that moment lies in the confines of tomorrow, Beyond the telling of the cards or the stars. It is not worth dwelling on the morning after. It is only worth sitting, Contemplating the steps it took to reach this destination.

But it’s a crisis of desire Without means to an end.

A silence that hurts. A stirring of unwelcome thoughts A window that calls to be opened, Yet is locked. Blocked by the haze, The fog that haunts His sorry soul.

Now it’s rising again. Like the ocean, Like the sun, Like the anxiety that grinds the gears in the man’s head until the window opens itself And he jumps, Screaming as he falls,

“I have found my purpo—”