The car crawls through the night like a predator, Its skin painted black, its soul an open wound. Inside, two masks grin—plastic and bloodstreaked, Smiles carved wider than reason would allow. The driver’s hands are steady, steering through nothing, Eyes fixed on the red light ahead, A false sun burning over empty streets. His passenger stares back with a head tilt and a silent joke, A shared secret in the hum of the engine. Outside, the world is smeared— Neon ghosts drip across cracked pavement, Headlights slicing through the fog of some forgotten city. It’s a ride with no destination, A deathless loop of laughter and shadow, Where faces melt, and the night swallows names. The road hums its broken song, And in the rearview, the darkness smiles back.