What Am I?

It is a Flame so brilliant I dare not grow close But still, I fear it may Burn me So I Smother it. I throw upon it layers of hatred, isolation, vitriolic disgust. I Curse its name to anyone who will listen and I Curse even louder to the ones that don't. I Douse the Flame with wave after wave, watching in glee as it its glow diminishes. The Flame is Gone, and I have killed it, and I feel no remorse, no shame, no regret. The Flame is Gone and I have killed it, and I'll continue to kill whatever spark comes next.