Has a Dream

I tug at my arms, the jacket that is draped over them.

I feel the wind in my hair, soaking me.

I see they are angry, looking at me, loathing me.

Im a pest, a type of stoat.

I feel stuck, as if I'm in a moat.

Am I here? Is this real? Oh god, I hope not.

I hope and I hope, and….. I hear a gun shot. 

Piercing and stretching through the air,

Fiercely hitting my chest, splattering dark blood in my hair.

I did not want this! I wanted peace! How is this fair?

They do know how it's to be me, or do they even care?

I used to be a god.! A type of lares.

That is, before the evil hearts came pouncing, more than the hostile glares.

Now those who care, sit, hearts bouncing, in the hospital chairs.

I did not want war, of course that is not what I wished for.

I came past this! I can! I will! Then Ill say,

I came past this!

They can shoot,

They can aim,

They can smile with bliss..!!!

But they'll make me happy, 

when 

they

miss.