Pyromaniac.

Why must everything I did, do & intend to do burns up in flames? Smokes and ashes are all that is left to me. Sometimes, I wish I could keep it around me, in darkness, eternal. 

Other times, I just wished I could stop whining and conjure up a wind to carry it all far far away, into the distant throes of nothingness. All my bloody alleged troubles.

Why do I have to be an egomaniac? Of all the things in this bloody universe that I could be, I have to pick the combination which, frankly, sucks. A lot.

Just stay in hell and burn, and rot too.