Yellow, Red, and Black

Yellow. Yellow Lines lines lines racing racing. They blur. I blur. Where did my identity go? It's lost somewhere between the yellow paint and the pavement. Inbetween the lines lies the characters of my character. I'm still moving. There are flashes of green on either sides of me, flashing lights in the review, but the windshield shows no sign of stopping. I see you. I see you everywhere. Or is that me? Was it always me? It was always me. But I'm safe. Right? Yes. I'm in my car. Nothing can hurt me, it's just the road, my car, and me. Red. Red blood. Blood trickling down my arm. From a scratch. Scratches. Scratches all over my arms. Gashes all over my legs. Wounds all over my hands. My head. It's aching. My body. It's aching. Everything is throbbing. It's growing. The throbs are growing, the flashes are growing, the pavement-- all I see is pavement, yellow and black, gravel shooting me like bullets, the car's gone. No steering wheel. Was there ever a steering wheel? Pavement. Yellow lines. There is no pavement. There are no yellow lines. There was never any car. There is blood. But it's just me. It's always just me. Black.