The Road Drops Here

The Road Drops Here

It happens in a breath—

the kind you never get back.

The world tilts forward,

not in warning,

but in decision,

as if gravity has been saving itself for this.

The asphalt shivers beneath me,

painted lines bending

into a vanishing point

that falls away

like a cliff carved from midnight.

My hands are on the wheel,

but the wheel is not mine,

it belongs to the moment,

to the rush,

to the thousand invisible hands

pulling me down.

Streetlights stretch their necks,

their glow spilling sideways,

trying to follow

as the horizon swallows itself whole.

Trees bend,

the moon staggers,

and somewhere

a traffic sign spins in the wind

with no road left to warn.

This is the place

where time stumbles,

where the map ends

not in ink,

but in breathlessness.

The road drops here—

and so do I,

tumbling past every certainty

I thought was mine.

Below,

there is only shadow,

and the echo of my name

falling faster than I can.

Yet even as I fall,

I wonder—

was I meant to stop,

or was I always meant

to see what waits at the bottom?