I too wanted to see flames. Grab some half-rotted dried out creatures and bonfire them. Drill holes in antique structures, fill with dynamite and boom.
Or open some throats and let the staled life trickle out.
I just wanted to see the world explode and implode and I with it.
But when I sprayed that fat cunt with petrol, and played with my lighter, I couldn't.
When I took with me a few cans of mustard gas, in the packed National Gallery, I couldn't.
When I grabbed grandfathers sabre, and run out towards some gipsies, I couldn't.
I wanted to see it explode and implode, I wanted to be removed, but I couldn't.
So I just write about it.