Sleepless Neon

The nightlife thrives on sound and sweet deceit; its shadows march a midnight second-line. Hypnotic beats drag souls throughout the streets: a slew of drunken sinners drenched in wine. The luminescent words of gaseous lights, embedded soundly within brick-house sides, instill their will in us from lofty heights, suggesting that our minds are theirs to guide. A plug-in portrait smeared with revelry is but a wound inflicted by the moon. Those colored lacerations violently descend on us, and likely won't seal soon. When traces of the sinless sun grow faint, the sleepless cities bleed electric paint.