turning in circles, sounds of metal on road. It is not sound suppose to be heard. Tires turning, but we go nowhere. Trapped inside, the smell of rain and car oil, it is strong as the metal. Hearing screams, wonder why they are so loud. Is it me? It sounds outside and inside of me. Climbing to the top, trying to escape of it. Blood is red, and fresh, is everwhere around me. Body small and broken, empty eyes that look to the sky, follow the path of the spirit. Questions without answers. Screams in the air. They are not me. Walking, wander through it. Life seems so unreal. It is so loud, but so silent. It is continuing, and it is over. Walking the line. Walking the white, the yellow lines. Walking the invisible line. Line between now and later, between life and after. Where is the line? How not to cross? hearing screams in air. Tires still turning.