Smoking Cigarettes and Drinking Gasoline: I’m a Demolition Man

I blow things up. I’m a demolition man.

See the big red button that says “do not push”? Yep, I’m pushing it in 3,2,1…

There’s even a song about me.

“Oh! Demolition, demolition
Demolition, demolition
Tied to the tracks and the train’s fast coming
Strapped to the wing with the engine running
You say that this wasn’t in your plan
And don’t mess around with the demolition man

I’m a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom
I kill conversation as I walk into the room
I’m a three line whip, I’m the sort of thing they ban
I’m a walking disaster, I’m a demolition man

You come to me like a moth to the flame
It’s love you need but I don’t play that game
'Cause you could be my greatest fan
But I’m nobody’s friend, I’m a demolition man”

Demolition Man, by Gordon Summers (Sting)

http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&cd=3&rct=j&q=sting%20demolition%20man%20live&ved=0ahUKEwjCteON1sHKAhVHzWMKHUCuDK4QuAIIJTAC&url=http%3A%2F%2Fm.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dn2m48PSJM1U&usg=AFQjCNFOFKTORm9OC1NOp9XZ1dGOHT2JqA

I blow up things, people, loves, friends. Everything. Everybody. Eventually.

Give it time. It’ll blow.

Remember the old Mission Impossible show? “This tape will self-destruct in 60 seconds.” I can do that.

Reverse alchemy, turning gold and diamonds to lead and dirt. Love to pain.

Peace to madness. Light to night. Hope to loss.

The anti-Midas.

Stained.

Bruised.

Broken.

Want an education in immolation? Watch.

Burning bridges behind me.

Running to nowhere.

Leaving a wake of destruction.

I’m a demolition expert. I know exactly where to start the fire, pull the string, make the cut…

Have a drink, strike a match.

Knowing what’s right and not doing it is cruelest curse.

Too bad. Who cares. So what. Next. I win. All would be so much easier to say. To feel. To survive. But no, there’s no joy in my fire.

Collateral damage explodes. No one is safe. This I hate. Eternal sorrow. Racked remorse.

I should go away. But gravity is strong. It pulls me close. Too weak to run, too explosive to embrace.

This isn’t fun. This isn’t me. Yes, it is.

Another day. Another mile. Speeding at the sound of silence.