Over morning breakfast, you read your horoscope:
One who has broken a promise with impunity will suffer the consequences.
You want to laugh the words off as cheap entertainment. Astrology is a starry
pseudo-science you remind yourself, and gulp back bitter, cold coffee.
 
Yes, your days are now filled with broken truths. Lies pile up
like dirty dishes and unpaid bills, and this morning, your betrayal
is indelibly written in black ink on newsprint, or like contraband letters
waiting to be discovered by one spouse, or the other.