Far off into the distance, all I can see is water.
The horizon is nothing but a mediator trying to avoid the merge.
Wind whipping up waves, endless skies eating endless water.
Violent waves surrounding me; initiating the purge.
This is my mind obfuscating the truth.
I can no longer see myself, the mist blinds me.
The intensity of the hurricane encloses me like a phone booth.
Everything is building up pressure inside me.
As I stand on this lonesome rock, I breathe in deep.
Concentrate and let the pressure see its demise.
Let them all know, that this won't defeat me.
Swimming against the current.
The only things pushing me forward are our memories.
Savage touches, gentle caresses.
A violent crimson in the sky.
Dawn is nighest in this color.
A color, which represents ends; it also brings beginnings.
"I don't believe we've met" A voice tells me.
"Oh but we have" I tell the voice.
For he is me; ergo I am he.
He is a recollection of my fears, my wants, my needs, my desires.
I am but a hollow case in which to enclose them.
He needs me, for without me he is naught.
He is an aggregate of my abhorrence.
I wish to live in solitude.
I want to live now.
I want to live in the "will be".
By dwelling in the past we only dread the future.
The moment the "is" is whispered it becomes the "was".
The instant it rolls off of your tongue it becomes obsolete.
So why must I abide in the nonexistent.
The crimson becomes an array of oranges, yellows and mauves.
The end is come.
The nightmare is Consumo.