Darkened Souls ©

The story — in my words

I wrote this one while sitting in my truck at 4:00 AM, watching the fog roll over the windshield and feeling like the weight of every mistake I’d ever made was sitting right there in the passenger seat. There’s a specific kind of cold that hits when you realize you can’t stay in a place that only reminds you of who you used to be. I wanted to capture that tactile sensation—the bite of a cold key in your hand and the way the engine vibration feels like a fever when you’re desperate to leave. We cut the tracks to feel like that heavy, rattling rhythm of a car that’s seen better days, mirroring the internal struggle of deciding to finally cut the anchor and drive until the porch lights disappear for good.