Driving down the highway, a million bodies are
held under spotlights, bloodied and curled
The empty roads surging with the cracking of
ribs, the snapping of legs, wings, anything
soft or easily broken splintering into a mess
of whimpers and cries left mutilated on the curb
Anything soft or scared lying still with the
whispers of I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
But they only understand the humming of the
engine and that the cold won't be so forgiving tonight
Do you ever think that they believe in the afterlife?
That they see the headlights approaching and think
Thank God, maybe next time it'll be me behind the wheel.
14.09.2024
fun fact !! last three lines are actually from 06.04.2024, 6 months before i actually wrote the rest of this !!!