6324. where is jane

There is no novelty beneath this sun, only the tired reshuffling of ancient thoughts, worn thin by the mind’s endless repetition. Upward they climb, those heavy stones of ambition, only to fall again into the dark—so why this frantic struggle against the inevitable? 

If one could simply lie back, let the world drift past, and sink into quiet oblivion. Surely there must be an hour allotted for our suffering, and another, softer hour for bliss, though here, in this tangled wilderness of the soul, all paths blur into shadow.

Does God sit above it all, or is the throne empty? And if empty, does the absence even matter? My mind strays, wandering back to Jane—where is she now, in what dim corner of the city? Is she offering up her fragile body once more, trading herself for a handful of coins to survive another day?

P.S.

Pussy is good for your soul