Asphalt cemeteries

Crossing the country on the right. On the way to the sea. The red asphalt, furrowed by the crushed bodies and the living flesh of those who were born carrying souls. The fresh ones still have their faces. Of the others, only a few hairs remain that flutter under the stream of bolides.

For a whole man, the roads of Romania are a nightmare, and for animals cemeteries. Those with small and small cars can still brake, sometimes there is no reaction time, and in front of tons of roadside mastodons, souls surrender with their eyes open.

That's how it was last night. It was the same today, and it will be the same tonight. And tomorow. And the day I return home. And every day the sun rises. And not just here, but everywhere in this country. Two-lane cemeteries await their tribute and sacrifice.

If there is a hell of animals, it is on Earth. And their Heaven always has its gates open, and it must be the most beautiful place of Creation.

I took the mask off my nose, and put it on my eyes. Not to see anymore.


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