Rooms in darkness at night time. Before I go to bed.

They seem and feel to me as empty hearts. As broken laughter.

Empty rooms full of loneliness. Not the type I love.

It feels different. As empty casks without any wine. As the wind

trapped in an empty cell. As a sweet bird begging for light.

Even as small as a match. A candle, I love candles. I could not use one

lest I cause a fire. With the day exhaustion and wine fogging the brain

It would be dangerous to read next to a candle.

Yes, I use the petrol lamp when at the cemetery. It’s different. Being in

an open room with no curtains, tables, or papers. Except my book and

bottle of Tequila. And limes. And salt. And Lobo and Speedy the feral

cat. We’re quite a group now. But, going back to darkened rooms,

It feels as steeping into a dark abyss. Into a black ominous dream.

I think I’ll have another long one.

EO