Tú Mismo

That endless ember, that ember with bad breath,
that thick ember that you wish would die
offends your olfactory with its filthy halitosis.
If you don't cover your glass, it floods it with pellets.
It floods it.
In your eardrums resonates its terrible purring.
In your mouth a lie: 'I'm going to the john, I need to pee'
But the ember, invincible, doesn't take the hint
and even the tiger chases you. It has chosen you, you're screwed!
Screwed.
Terrified, you realize the borefest that is coming:
the leaden monologue of the story of its ruin.
Thick fumes ooze from its armpit.
You start considering telling it to screw off.
Screw off.
You start feeling dizzy, you're starting to feel sick.
The brays it emits with its snout make you faint.
Like a zombie from a movie, nothing ends its life.
Cut off its head! It's the only way out!
Way out.
You wake up relieved, it was just a nightmare
and you diagnose yourself: Jumilla overdose.
But then, in the toilet, a cold sweat runs down your back.
The mirror never lies: the ember is yourself.
Yourself (the ember).