The voices of the old, worn tires on the pavement speak for us, declaring that we cannot bare the load anymore.
The images from the dim, grey road portray us, showing the state of our demise.
The thick, black fumes clouding our judgment, existing because we produce them, are there to suffocate us.
The dark, deep holes in our path, do more than just cripple us, they are there to swallow us whole or deliver us to the next one.
The intense, reflected light from the mirror, it blinds our vision and leaves us impaired.
The high pitched, loud squeal of the brakes cries for us, voicing our pain and anguish.
The small, uninteresting numbers that grow with each step, they mark our journey and signal that sooner or later it is bound to run out of digits.
The sudden, impulsive turning of the wheel exposes us, reminding us of our fragility.
The unending, hungry chaos represents us, standing for our greed and indifference.
The irritating, repetitive horns, annoying to all but us, prove our vulgarity.
1 year ago