I feel jealous of people, I feel jealous that people can breathe. I feel hateful that their lungs are functioning, sucking air and taking what I consider to be mine. I feel hateful and jealous of people, because they think that what is theirs is theirs. I walk the streets, but I only walk when it is dark out. I follow people in the darkness, I pretend that I might kill them, but I do not kill. I don’t kill because I am a coward and that is perhaps the only reason. I try to be complex, but sometimes I burn my fingertips, sometimes I think that the pain of art is all that ever mattered. I argue in the streets, I do this after drinking too much. I don’t believe in arguments, but I do think that it is lustful and I do love lusting after strangers. Maybe I am this performer? Maybe I am homeless? I feel at home in the streets, I feel ugly in the streets, I feel jealous of the homes that people think they own. Is there any way to tell a story other than by firelight? Was there ever anything better for words than a glowing fire in the dimness? What should I do now ? I am drunk again and there is a beautiful lady walking over there and the streets are wet, is it dark yet? What will I do? I am drunk again and maybe I am a coward, but what about the fire? Just a few wads of newspaper and maybe a bit of gasoline? Anyone could perform this brilliance. She owns a nice home, such a lovely place, will I perform this act of arson? Anyone could do this? What did she do to me? I blame others,I blame myself, but I don’t know who to blame and did it ever really matter? all of the useless useful blame? Someone I suppose ? Me or them it does not mean a thing, except when I light the fire, I do love the light, I love it in the dimness of night. But it burns so intensely, I’ve heard my skin sizzle before. Then I know what It is, only because It hurts so intensely. I hear screaming, I hear choking, I hear coughing, my god is that the cry of child through the smog, is that smoke pouring out the open window? Why would anyone ever live in a city? In this city why god? Why are the police arguing with me? the man with the badge wants to ask me questions? Was this my doing? Was this me? Of course not, no! I was just trying to get some air and then happened upon this fire? How could you blame me of this ? No I won’t go anywhere? Help, help me please, it was not me, it was not my fault! I only wanted to breathe in the dark air. This is art dam you, art I tell you! What else are buildings built for then? I will always be rich, as long as people own things in this world, I will own things, their things are my things and the world is mine and locking me away won’t change that sir! Can you see? The world is mine; the fire is mine; I think that there is magic in burning things, other people's things, your things.

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Pub: 06 Apr 2025 18:38 UTC

Views: 103