The sky isn’t a freedom.

It is a liberty in which we take advantage of.

The sky is a freedom.

If freedom was meant to be a closed door.

No mammal hasn’t once looked at the sky and uttered,

“Why?”

The sky isn’t a freedom.

It is a reminder of the vast that surrounds us.

A reminder of the nothingness we are to the divine.

Why must it be we who were meant to be when we can’t even celebrate life?

The sky isn’t a freedom.

It’s the afterlife.

The place all hates.

I hate.

And I hate that I hate.

Why is everyone so filled with hate?

Enough hate to weite poems and later hate those poems.

Enough hate.

I hate that the sky isn’t a freedom.

Why can’t it be a freedom?