Smears etched into the asphalt
oil, or more likely blood.
Dragged in a long dark streak
across the road like pooling mud.
Black tar torn from the surface
where someone braked too hard,
a reminder how quickly
time can pull its card.
Belongings scattered in silence
lip gloss still half full.
Its owner will never return
to gather what the road stole.
A single shoe lies nearby,
one that will not be worn again,
resting beside twisted metal
where a life once had been.
Photos mark the roadside now
for passing cars and quiet prayers.
A small wooden cross stands watch
to show that someone’s memory lives there.
Favourite things are left beside it
flowers, notes, a child's toy.
Small pieces of a life once lived
that the road could not destroy
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 9:03 PM UTC
Smears etched into the asphalt
oil, or more likely blood.
Dragged in a long dark streak
across the road like pooling mud.
Black tar torn from the surface
where someone braked too hard,
a reminder how quickly
time can pull its card.
Belongings scattered in silence
lip gloss still half full.
Its owner will never return
to gather what the road stole.
A single shoe lies nearby,
one that will not be worn again,
resting beside twisted metal
where a life once had been.
Photos mark the roadside now
for passing cars and quiet prayers.
A small wooden cross stands watch
to show that someone’s memory lives there.
Favourite things are left beside it
flowers, notes, a child's toy.
Small pieces of a life once lived
that the road could not destroy
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