The sky tastes like brittle revenge.

The sun's rays jump to us dodging buildings.

In the street people run away from me.

Cars stop, in a panic people don’t even have the decency to look up.

I am holding a fish out of water. 

I toss him off the building.

Off the building of life.

To the ground of death.

He didn’t scream as he fell.

He was thinking.

The time seemed to run still.

He looked like a bird soaring calmly to the ground,

Until his blood turned cold as the night.

The blood in his head that splattered on the wet pavement was a cherry color, 

the color of one's anger.

Just dripping one by one away.

Away from his life, away from his dreams that were never found,

To death,

To hate,

To everlasting suffering.

Oozing chunky blood like vomit that just surfaced in people in the ground.

Skin pieces peeled off of his face like the pockets of jeans.

There were thick chunks of scaly skin that seemingly fell with him revealing the blood beneath him.

It was from a movie or I guess it was just as some said, a great tragedy.

They were opaque with lines revealing his veins that now exploded onto the lit-up black pavement of the road.

Traffic came to a halt.

Tried to slow down.

Screeching wheels.

The metal of the cars folded in on itself like the crushing of a tin can.

You could hear the thoughts of the ideas of pain. 

as skin ripped as easy as paper like we are all frail paper dolls.