The car burns through the frozen dark like a fever dream, Its hood a bruised canvas, smeared with gasoline intentions. Through the cracked windshield, headlights slither like ghosts— Faint promises that won’t survive the road ahead. Inside, their faces are shadows, jagged and restless, Carved from cigarette smoke and yesterday’s mistakes. One hand on the wheel, the other deep in some forgotten pocket, As if searching for something worth keeping in a world full of throwaways. On the roof, the lights flicker—antlers of fire and neon chaos, Like a warning from a lost god to get out while you can. The snowbanks on either side whisper old secrets: Stay too long and you’ll freeze where you stand. But the engine doesn’t care. It hums its low hymn of defiance, Dragging them further into the endless white. The red car groans forward, a bullet searching for a target, Leaving nothing behind but exhaust and broken sound.