Life as a highway.
Woven cement like paper veins,
Pumping, pumping out little lives.
Congestion forces us
backwards.
Towards the heart of the matter.
Graying, decaying gaseous fumes,
Smell the sights of metal thousands,
bodies millions.
Below nothing but a sea of black.
What keeps us on the road?
The stale brittle bumpy path
We turn back to it daily.
The graying fading lines
Blur to black and white.
The road marked out for us,
Black and white.
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