As a boy I dreamt of flying high, as a sparrow would.

I imagined soaring the skies at an absurd altitude.

Letting my carcass go, letting the crosswind engulf me.

The fear of heights grew onto me, but what is to fear?

Falling is not the source, as it is only gravity.

Pulling me down as it should, no pain is caused, no joy is lost.

The impact is the killer.

I come crashing down, every inch of my body decimated to the just bottom.

They say the only way from rock bottom is up,

but my wings have been pillaged.

I don't want to touch the ground.

The ground is tainted and ravaged by the cruelty of our race.

The ground is my killer.