Fireworks and Fallout

The sky cracks in neon shivers, Pink threads stitched against midnight blue. The building hums—windows empty, Rooms breathing the ghosts of celebrations.

A yellow beast, still and silent, Its engine a prayer long since spoken. Tires sink in frozen grime, A parking lot for forgotten years.

Fireworks bloom—like promises, Dying before they hit the ground. And the snow? It watches, uncaring, As smoke curls into another morning.