Suicide

A store revolving around paper
The anonymous shed their skin.
No- one knew his face,
He became a bird without wings.

He took the stairs to the second floor,
Gave an owl- like look to the ground
- 70 ft
Where small- sized people drank tea.

He swooped, seagull- style for food,
Not landing light.
He lay mangled on the floor
- His wings did not work.

He left this life,
Surrounded by medics
Who cut him open
- As he bled away.