The Motorcyclist

Emerging from the clouds of black smokes,
is a motorcyclist.
The polluting black haze come from vehicles.
It's thick and the night's worsens it.

The man just keeps on moving on his bike.
Speeding down the highway.
Aimlessly and without a destination.
He pushes his motorcycle further.

Clenching his hand to the handle.
His eyes shows no emotion.
His face was blank.
Looks a lot like a new corpse, pale.

He throttles on.
Not looking to his right or left.
He just went on straigth.
The road is noisier than usual now.

The cars are honking.
Drivers are cursing.
Such a ruckus.
It was all his fault.

Driving his bike in a dangerous manner.
Furiatating and raging up the other road users.
He is not stopping.
The gas is getting low on his meter.

He grunts and curses.
Putting on the last gear,
He goes to the bike's limit.
Closes his eyes and smiles.

People nearby rushes near.
The bike has landed on a face of truck.
Everyone's guess was,
"..the last thing he saw must be the truck's lights.."