The motel sign hums like a broken prayer, Flickering letters choked on rust and regret. It stands alone— A skeleton of promises burned out long ago. Beneath the glow, the earth swallows secrets: Empty bottles, shattered bulbs, tire tracks Leading nowhere but further into darkness. The air is thick, electric, Like something terrible is about to happen. A water tower looms, a ghostly sentinel, Its rusted skin dripping with moonlight. The silence here isn’t empty— It’s waiting. And if you’re stupid enough to check in, You’ll never quite check out.