I shot a bullet into the sky and saw it leave whatever embrace I had on it.
I waited for it to fall, and thought of when it would hit the dirt.
It's out of the chamber, I said. It's out of my hands.
But soon it'll be in the soil, that is if it lands.
Imagine how fast it's going, but it's direction is meaningless.
I'm wondering why my head goes wandering, in times like this.
I'm worried I guess.
I needed the stench of that acrid, burning, powder to stick to me.
I needed it to fill my lungs with dust and send me coughing.
I needed to feel the adrenaline pumping through each and every piece of skin.
I needed to feel something push back.
I needed to be scared.
So I shot a bullet into the sky and saw it leave whatever embrace I had on it.
But I have a feeling that bullet was ready to pass through something a little more grounded.