I've started to fantasise about nuclear annihilation.
Every night I dream of mushroom clouds blooming on the horizon, the blush of radiant heat lighting them like paper lanterns, like torchlight through the thin web of skin between thumb and forefinger. I want to taste cobalt ash on my tongue. The blastwave splits the world in two and cracks open my skull like a crystal eggshell. The noise is total, absolute, every part of me lost to a mountainside of white static. The breath of God. Shock grips my taut flesh like orgasm and I'm gone, transcendant, a spray of clean carbon in the gale.