Now they are painful to those below. For every man who soaks these tears into the pores will feel his society's fate. This time will be quick. All fighting for the dead and diseased fish floating beneath them. As I continue to kneel upon the yellow mud, I feel the swift breeze of the fight around me.
Bullets graze and continue to fly more abundant than the birds.
I feel the metal's residue in the hole that has yet to clot in my hand. The blood flows, and then drools into the swill of crap and mud that rolls by my battered knees. I yank off the mask with blurred and clouded lenses from the sweat of the fight. I face the breeze and inhale this last breath. No one is with me to experience it.