A brief feeling of vertigo washed over me.
A slight hesitation in my usual manner.
I paused--
Hand poised in the air, quivering slightly, with the sheer, metallic blade in halted hand, something was...wrong.
The fire I had made was burning brightly, vigorously, scorching my own clothes.
I looked down at the blood pooling around my feet, staining my skin, dripping down my arm.
With a small twitch of my lips, sardonic curling lips, I dropped the bloodied and rusted knife.
It fell to the concrete floor with a clatter, unheard though, that fire was beautiful, (she was roaring) and I watched in slow-motion its descent to the ground.
My gaze lingered on the weapon before I trained these murky pools to the pile of flesh I was about to carve open.
You see a funny thing happened to me in that moment-- (no one's exempt from an epiphany)
I realized I was human.
My make-up was running, bleeding black and white and red all over, while green, greasy hair limply framed my face.
(you can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still pig)
Beneath the creased lines and painted debauchery--
Here lies man.
A man.
The thought briefly flashes through mind, (it was just one minute of failure after all), before it's devoured by a preying flurry of sparks inside my brain, quickly suffocated, buried beneath the constant, perpetual torrent of my geniusanity (and they say I'm a madman)
before I remember where I am and with a confidence like I never lost my stride, a fanciful flourish later, and there's smiles all around.