Glass eyes gleam under streetlight halos, Painted smiles cracked—too wide, too still, Breath fogging cold memories, Trapped in the mirror's warped grin. Hands on the wheel, nowhere to go, Windshield bleeding neon scars, Two shadows in yellow suits— Saints of the lost road, baptized in exhaust. The laughter comes soft, Rolling in like thunder far away, Before dying out, Leaving nothing but the hum of tires.