I, a deer in blinding headlights.
Whirring wheels screech against the asphalt.
Demanding movement but provoking frozen fear.
I, a wide eyed statistic shaking at the hulking mass.
Lacking comprehension in shape or form.
And then, the crash.
Headlights flashed and with it my life.
Would my use be more pleasurable.
A tough and salty jerky.
A stuffed trophy piece.
A carcass feeding the solemn earth.
Rather, than a grazing waste of space.
Meant only to continue my own misery.
Feeding off the grass, a beautiful, graceful leech.
That day a deer died.
Running to run.
Eating to eat.
Living to rot.
Purpose in the headlights.
A chugging steel tool which killed what was me.
And so I was no longer.
And so I was purpose.
And so I was.
For the very first time.