He grabbed an incense stick and lit it,
Watching the tip glowing, he remembered.
It wasn’t something he wanted to remember,
But it came to him.

The fire. It took his family,
His friends and his sanity.
It left him with a fear of fire,
And yet, he became an arsonist.

He started fires to cope.
He tried to comprehend the power,
But all it led to was senseless destruction.
Not just of whatever he set fires to, but him.

He destroyed himself, trying to get over the trauma,
But in doing so, he understood why,
Why that fire had to be set.
Evil.

They were all evil.
The killer of his family and friends knew this,
It’s why he set the fire.
He had to cleanse them.
He was the only one who was pure enough.

When that fire was set, the young boy watched,
He watched himself light that match,
It was as if he wasn’t really himself,
But he was someone else. Taken over.

This was why he set more fires.
Once he’d cleansed his friends and family,
He needed to do it to the rest of the world.
He studied electrics.

Became an electrician.
He was known as the best in the field.
A genius.
Using his skills, he set fires.

One by one, he set about cleansing the world.
As he lit that incense stick, he remembered.
He wanted to remember.
He wanted to see his family and friends dying once more.

He wanted to see the misery, the pain on their faces,
He wanted to watch them suffer.
They were impure, he was cleansing them.
He watched as they died. He played the victim.

His propensity for arson grew from that day,
Until one day it caught up to him.
One fire too many. He slipped up,
Then slipped into a coma.

Slowly, the life drained from him,
Surrounded by flames now, he weeps.
As soon as a tear forms, it evaporates.
He wonders if this is hell...