Feels like oncoming lanes, two blurs becoming one and the same, have reached their jaded apex. No systems of checks or balances remain. Yellow broken lines sway in their conviction.
Ridges and ravines are left to
Twisted metal’s ephemeral
(though only winding roads relate).
This is our equation, an algebraic map,
variable destination while we drive off
a mountain path.
Attack velocity between downward trees
til we wrap around unlucky epicentres
burst into fucking flames.