We didn’t sleep that night
the fire burning in our eyes,
our lungs filled with smoke and ash.

We didn’t have the heart to put it out.

No, we didn’t have the heart to **** it,
but we didn’t dare leave it unattended.
At some point we'd resolved
to let it die off on its own – but
we didn’t have the heart for that either.

All night we fed the flames
with stories told in delirium-states,
our truths embedded in fictions
occasionally exploding in crackles.

All night we circled the fire-pit
in ritualistic and futile attempts
to escape the capricious winds.

All night the flames danced hypnotic
while the waves on the shore sang lullabies:
homicidal, tempting melodies of sleep.

But,
when the morrow broke the sky
and faint blue crept in,
when the clouds gasped
coloured in superfluous reds and oranges,
when the last flicker finally puffed out
and we could at long last close our eyes,
there,
eternally etched,
we would still see the flames
burning under our eyelids.