Neon Sunsets

 

Born from a broken flask,

Lives reflected in a glass.

The neon signs shimmer and push against the setting sun.

Drawn to the light,

I surrender to the gloom, floating inside a neon haze.

 

The liqueur is chalky white,

like the broken bones of youth.

Every euphoric revery paid with a dreadful kick.

But the pain is erased with an apathetic sip,

and paralysis begins, floating inside a neon haze.

 

The foam whispers and spills over the glass.

It caresses my hand like a jealous lover.

And I see her there still, sobbing on the cooling sand.

Her shadow growing long in the waning summer hour.

And I let the echoes of the past grow quiet, floating inside a neon haze.

 

The brandy is a dingy red,

like the gore untethered by your hand.

Its warmth presses against the cold.

It covers stormy faces and muffles the debate,

and everything seems normal, floating inside a neon haze.

 

So, I let the bubbles rise,

like incoherent dreams

they drift to the surface.

I watch them dissipate inside a dying spirit,

and everything thrown away is recycled again, and again, trapped inside a neon haze.