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—