Chaos on the Highway

On a moonless night,
the asphalt glimmers, slick and dark,
as the chill creeps in, wrapping shadows
around a mind unmoored,
once tethered to reason, now
a boat adrift in a storm.

He stands at the roadside,
a specter in a frayed jacket,
eyes wide like saucers,
glistening with unholy thoughts,
each step away from the ward
a step deeper into chaos,
the whispers of the white walls
still echoing in his skull.

He flashes a smile
sharp, manic,
like the knife he conceals,
waiting for the right moment,
the right victim to cross his path,
to be seduced by the promise of freedom,
the thrill of the hunt,
the sweet taste of blood.

A rumble in the distance,
headlights slicing through the dark,
the roar of tires against concrete,
and he raises a hand,
his heart pounding in time
with the thud of his deranged dreams.
The car slows, hesitates,
a ghost on wheels
the door swings wide.

"Need a ride?" the driver grins,
eyes gleaming with a frenzied light,
more unhinged than the one he seeks to deceive,
muttering secrets about the world,
talking to shadows,
his laughter sharp as glass,
splintering the night air.

"Get in," he beckons,
"we've got places to go,
things to do,
darkness to embrace."

And as the car roars back to life,
the air thickens,
cloaked in something sinister,
the blade slips from his grip
there's no need for violence here,
the real game unfolds in the silence,
where two minds tangle and twist,
the hunter becoming the prey
in a dance of madness,
the road ahead uncharted,
both lost in their own hell,
heading into the abyss,
where sanity crumbles
and horror is a road trip.