Road Kill


There is a distorted image on the road,
battered and beaten,
it lies alone,
drifting away,
into the winter's bitter cold.

Its blood leaks,
out in defeat,
staining the concrete,
as its heart skips another beat.

Glazed eyes fill with fear,
as the darkness draws near,
for even the most primal,
only wish to be worthy of survival.

Its breathing is ragged now.
Its limbs are twitching now.
Its body releases itself now.
There is too much pain to be proud.

A soft moan,
a tortured groan,
and that distorted image,
lying alone on the road,
becomes one with the winter's numbing cold.

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