We're riding bikes on this trip known as life

In midnight hours

Facing wind with a hefty amount of risk mixed with intoxication adorning my head with an imaginary crown in place of where nonexistent helmet should be

Drunk not on alcohol
Instead from the countless tears formed by self-hatred
Soul-boiling
Hot liquid bubbling over edges of my eyelids

I hope we find our way
We travel without light guiding our direction
Two insignificant nomads blindly navigating this vast existential void
Attempting to reach sort of adequate destination before time reaches us
Held together by fingers and an invisible magnetism more powerful than the unknown forces pulling and prodding around us at all angles
And led forward by our hearts