Have you ever had a need as urgent? A need to explode into smoke in the wild winds, to run away from what you think you know, what you cherish and distaste, and go somewhere no one knows you, somewhere you can recreate yourself again, forge your life anew, or eliminate whatever passes for life, exchange it for… something else.
You occupy a slice of the universe but you hate that you are bloating the space up. You also long for the absence of your absence. You miss yourself being without. You long to not be, to be unpresent. If you could, you would percolate into the ether, become weightless and drift into nothingness.
Everything becomes common-dull. Blasé becomes your state. Layered as it is in humour, irony, and sarcasm, it peeks through, re-asserting itself. Nothing feels fresh. What brought you joy you now want to end. You rush through yourself. Impatient, you rush yourself, rushing others. To where you cannot yet know. Just not here. Not this muggy world of old things with new polish.
Growing up or growing out, out of what you have been told since you became solid and knowing, knowing what is important, what is needed. But, important for whom, needful for you? When you question, your light is doused in a semblance of compassion. If they cared, they would set your mouth free.
They told you to set your mind on fire and you did. Now that you can burn them, they call upon tradition. You cannot choke any more. You need the air of ceasing to be what you are, what you are to them, and become what you want to be for yourself. To satisfy your need to exist by not existing. To explode. You will, if your luminosity does not get an outlet. Can you see your edges already turning to ash?