Shoot

I am human, and I shot the sky.

Blood poured from its wound, but I didn’t mind.

Since the sky is not human, it feels nothing.

People move, and scream out, but it didn’t die.

It has not head, nor heart, nor lungs, I find.

Looking into its air, it cannot even sing.

I am human, and I stabbed the earth.

It cried tears of oil, and it shook.

I laughed, because it could not fight back.

It is not human, and was not given birth,

by a father and a mother from a bossom it took.

No matter at all, for a soul it did lack.

I am human, and I suffocated another human.

A human of whom is less human than I.

He or She flailed until final moments of rest.

Since lesser humanity applies; I knew not man nor woman.

the not-so-quite-person struggled, and tried to fly.

In the end, I realize that my decision was best.

I am human, and I killed myself.

Jumped off of a skyscrapper, and now I write,

line after line of this rhythmic verse.

Fall to the ground, scrape my pieces of of the shelf.

Maybe I’ll flap my wings, and attempt flight.

No, I think I’ll scribble this unti—

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