Silent Passenger

He sits like a specter in the backseat, Face painted with the smudged mask of another life. The glass fractures his reflection— Eyes glowing cold, lips streaked red like a broken promise.

Outside, the city unravels in streaks of electric despair, Windows dripping with pale neon tears. Streetlights flicker, like they’re trying to warn someone— But nobody ever listens to ghosts.

The engine hums a funeral dirge, A low growl buried beneath his silence. There’s nowhere to go, but the car keeps moving, A steel tomb lit by the fading pulse of forgotten streets.

He stares straight ahead— Not at the road, not at the past, But into the void painted on the windshield. And the void stares back, Smiling just as wide.