She smiles like a broken bulb— Too bright, too hollow. The neon sign above her flickers its curse, Words dripping onto the pavement like oil. The Cadillac hums a dark lullaby, Trapped between second gear and eternity, And the windshield splits her face Into shards of painted light. She’s queen of the afterglow, A ghost with nowhere to haunt. You might catch her in the corner of your eye, Laughing at a joke she never told.