Consequence

The haze is finally gone,

Vanished with the bang of a gun 

And an upset stomach.

It twirled and swirled its way through night till daybreak,

When the crimson sun arrived again

Raining hellfire down on this parasitic host.

But it is gone.

For now.

Until the pressure of the moment builds haziness

Back into the eyes of the subject.

Until the world decides that this man

Needs more poison in his bloodstream.

Then it will return with a fiery vengeance;

 The wrath of the ten thousand grains of sand 

It took to make the bottle.

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—”