Cars Traveling On Infinite Planes

Blackened shells gliding through finite shadows, their engines burning like the dead's desolate fires. Wheels devour roads, unraveling beneath them, miles swallowed, expelled into an endless ether. Time bleeds on cracks in black asphalt, slipping between fangs of jagged metal n rust, coalescing around headlights, flicking in distant ghosts. Each turn spirals inward, a labyrinth of smoke, its destination drowned in the Obscurity of a thousand shattered moons. Silent passengers sit with hollowed eyes, faces veiled at dusk, hands grasping bone white at, steering wheels. They follow lines drawn by figures unseen, etched into the skin in this barren world, seeking an exit, crumbling Minds are lost before it’s found. Bridges crumble under the weight of ill-gotten souls, steel carcasses, glass & bone suspended over black rivers of endless echos, currents thick with the scent of decay. There is no sky here, only blank stares from eternity, A Will heavy as gravity, pinning down stars. Horizons swallow themselves, folding inward the night was a collapsing void. Still, the cars press forward onward. Tires, sinking deeper into the fleshly road. They seek nothing found at every turn. Their purpose, a secret whispered only by the dark, a void speaks not in words. They travel toward their destination: silence, Heart of wastelands & deserts of sand where the air tastes of ash, and time drips like oil from mouths of unseen mechanical beasts. Beneath the surface, something stirs, its pulse felt only in the trembling of the earth. It is written in a fine fragle film of dust. Abandon things, machines, & auto parts. On a plane, no sound travels from forgotten wheels. And still, the cars move ever onward. Each journey spirals into another, each driver locked in eternal circles, following a map that was never drawn, on roads that lead nowhere & everywhere into the waiting arms of creation.