Flame Thrower

Arson adamant in my brain and timber in my dry-as-always heart, gasoline on my breath, stinging my nostrils and gently gathering in my tear ducts but not dripping down; I burn everything I see just by exhaling, which is necessary for my continued living.  The calm air around becomes incendiary as soon as it enters my body, at first contact with any path leading inside.  
 
Luckily, I am relatively small and so is my world.
 

Perhaps I should learn to live underwater…