It's three a.m.
I reach over and turn on the radio
It coughs up noise that reminds me of a soundtrack
To a bad dream
The rain is hitting my windshield so hard
I can barely hear the tinny, garbled voices
The cars outside rush by like falling elevators
My headlights catch fleeting images of ghostly faces
Pressed up against glass in silent desperation
I'm lost in the middle of nowhere
But I keep my eyes on the road
And I don't look back
