Description
The red car screams through the frost-bitten streets,
A chariot for the damned, fueled by panic and bad ideas.
She yells with the fury of someone who’s just seen God blink,
A banshee in the driver’s seat, mouth open wide like a shotgun blast.
Beside her, he’s grinning—
A madman with nowhere to hide,
Eyes wired to the edge of reason.
The steering wheel trembles in his grip,
The road a blur of salt, snow, and forgotten exits.
Outside, the world cracks and warps,
Billboards bleed, trees vanish into static.
The windshield fractures reality into oil-slick pieces,
Each shard reflecting the same truth:
They’re not coming back.
It’s a joyride to oblivion,
Two souls laughing at the joke they can’t remember.
The car doesn’t slow,
And neither do they—
Not until the horizon spits them out.
