Fire

If I were to envision my own death,

which I have done a million times

I crave fire

being burned, heavily, eagerly, infatuatedly, jealously, madly,

dramatically，

as if my whole life were a tragedy,

not the kind Shakespeare would write

but from the hand of a third-rate poet

and poets can't write tragedy

Needless to say,

everybody loves fire

so many great figures have depicted

where fire devours

everything goes into nihility and nirvana and nihility and nirvana, for eternity

People wail in despair, screeching, excruciating pain

yet hopeful,

as if they were too busy to spare one second to find out that they are the biggest idiots in the world

And I am enjoying this.

Our world suffers

we all suffer

I love when people suffer

the fire is raging, swelling, rampaging

in articulo mortis.

Near death throes，

but never actually dead

I will be sitting on the roof

laughing

condescending every other particle

as myself fall within an instant

I will feel the searing heat of my pain

my skin is fire

my bones are the fuel

and my soul—

wait,

I don't have a soul

Shaded by fire

I will cry

yet the land forbid tears.

Only through death and God's pride

my heart shall be silent tears

I will be drowned

I want to be drowned in fire

but one cannot drown in fire

just like

the rest and me

But I guess I don't deserve fire

after all my life is tedious and boring.

Like dust clinging to a corner of the window

but

at least dust can be seen

So I sit still,

lights off.

Just quietly dissolving

I blow out everything in the world

as I blow out a candle