December Insomnia

I still don’t remember if what ran down my arms was sweat or rain drops. I only remember the flames, many flames! And the taste of wine in my mouth. I remember it boiling inside as if my kidneys were embers, as if my bad words were fireworks, as if my heart was a nuclear reactor.
I lit the fire in the dead of night. I abused the alcohol dose. I used the old gifts as firewood: the photos, letters, vouchers, objects. The smoke blackened a starry sky and a yellowish moon, ashamed, needy.
Latter, I capped back into the room. Dogs howled around the corners, cars crossed the highways. I finished the wine and the fire went out. Out there. Here inside. A reactor capable of illuminating and rejoice an entire continent is, for now, locked, pessimistic, retired. Is this how a man ends? Is this how a man starts over? Damn Love!


Enough! It’s year-end, fool! It’s time to look for something not so radioactive to love. Forget it, drink and sleep.

That is all.

 

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