The fire burns with the heat of my never-ending passion. The blaze burns with the warmth of hell consuming my soul. The nefarious thoughts take over me. The cleansing fire brings the birth of my new self; like the phoenix, I am renewed! Heat emanates from the burning building with a great intensity together with the screams of those within. Fire, the great power of flames. The crackle of the flames is like a symphony to me. It is amazing how something that causes so much destruction can come from a small little spark. A spark that leads to a flame and a flame that leads to a fire. The fire then becomes a blaze and the blaze consumes all. Once a fire grows to an immense size is started nothing can stop it? Have you ever hear of a wildfire that cannot be stopped? Right, they say that it needs to be “contained,” fools. They cannot contain my art. My passion for burning and the all-consuming fire. The never-ending blaze needs to be fed and is always hungry. The flame needs fuel. The fire did not start with me, but it is continuing. Only now I am the aid to the fire. Never can someone be in control of the fire. Blazing and burning the fire takes more victims. The crackle symphony of absolute beauty was mixed with their hopeless cries.

The darkness of my heart is matched by the black soulless sky. Late at night, clear skies of Satan’s design engulf the night. Seeping into every crack on the night. All light is squashed and killed the Moon hides in the darkness. Without the night sky beckoning, the night is depressed. No light means no hope and then the spark comes. The fire spreads from my lighter to all. Sirens blast and break the painful silence of the dark. The symphony of screams it given hope. Red and blue lights and loud sirens attempt to end my masterpiece. Artists are never understood in their lifetime. When an artist dies his or her work worth increases. Why? Because people do not take the time to understand genius when it works among them. They wait until they finally, “get it” just in time from the artist to die. Therefore the artist never understands the impact of their work. I am an artist. My medium is fire, but not my fire: the fire that already burns within.

Have you ever wanted to make a rash decision that would harm someone else? That is the fire inside of you. The fire inside of you wants to harm and kill. Let it. Only attack the undesirables. Those who do not mean anything. Many people in the world do not need to be here. The planet has too many people. Time to thin the herd. Let’s start with the undesirables. The people that, if they die, no one would care or even notice. People unlike me, I am an artist, an artist that changes lives and inspires nations. I need to live, but those others do not. They are not loved or needed; they serve no purpose. They desire to die. If one serves a purpose, then they can stay. Other than that… I’ll see you in the blaze.

The wrecking ball of flame will come down with my righteous fist. Burn it to the ground and watch it burn. The building crumbles as the fire dances out of the way of the water. The cries come from the undesirables. They could not save all of them. A few lived and went to the hospital to be tomorrow’s problem. As the alley was dark and full of the homeless. The pile of the nasty street people was covered in the cheap booze I gave them. Alcohol is a great accelerate. The bums were literally covered in it. The flame from the torch took care of the pile of human garbage as the fire consumed a mass grave of the homeless. The alley turned to light as a smile spread across my face. Burn baby burn, I mutter as the fire calls me to the next victim…