My earthly skin continues to burn after trying to measure itself against the divine. My proud cold heart melts when faced with temptation. My rock splits under the pressure of duality.
And Pyromaniac does nothing. He watches with pleasure as I am consumed by the flames. Do I let the damage continue or should I let myself disappear with the voices of enchantment ? “O Justice, O my mother”, cries Prometheus, “you see what I am made to suffer.” And Hermes mocks the hero: “I am amazed that, being a God, you did not forsee the torment you are suffering.” “I did see it,” replied the rebel.
Is it ignorance, or rather an obsessive impulse of desire, that has pushed the Pyromaniac, with the beauty of a breath, to start the fire ?
At first, I let my body be entirely dominated. The arsonist made my human anatomy dance from top to bottom and back again. As did Prometheus, I foresaw the agony that was coming. I thought that my burning skin, with its photovoltaic qualities, would absorb the endless possibilities of a lost void. However, the rules of the cosmos are disturbed. My conscience is lost in a mist.