Wreakage

-I see the skid marks on the highway sliding into the left lane, then turned hard back toward the right; weren't there yesterday, must have came about late in the dark of their last night. -There's a hunk of torn metal laying in the ditch, blood on the shoulder, a stillness in the air which foretells, these souls shall grow no older... It sent shivers sparking up my cold spine, while watching callous cars crawl slowly by... knowing so easily the time could've been mine. -The eventuality of everything crosses the line; listen, hear the mourning sound... we are all here bound, temporarily to this old earth crawling, moving toward the Reaper of Wreakage, who one day for us shall come a calling...