Sunlash tangles in my eyelights,
my fog breaths up the windshield.
I'm shifting lanes and changing gears.
I'm feeling
good.

A whisper tries to gnaw at my bones,
it begs me to appease.
My foot gets heavier
and I'm flooring the pedal,
matting to the metal.

Tachometer syncs up with my heart,
I'm in tachycardia and falling apart.
I lost my exhaust.
My head won't start.
My wheels are falling off.

I'm a screaming freight knuckle, white training it.
Barreling down
some small town.

I crack a smile and rub my face.

The whisper
still whispers,
and I'm still feeling

good.