NEON PULSE

The night hums beneath my skin,

a quiet voltage moving slow,

like the city is breathing through me

one pulse at a time.

Neon drips down the walls,

soft as rainfall,

bright as a secret you’re ready to speak

but don’t.

Every step feels synced

to something larger —

a rhythm hiding in the wires,

a heartbeat pressed into the glow.

I follow it without thinking,

drawn the way light is drawn

to anything that refuses to fade.

Your shadow walks beside mine,

not touching,

just close enough

to bend the darkness differently.

We speak without speaking,

letting the current guide us

through alleys painted in colors

no sunrise could ever hold.

Neon pulse —

steady, electric, alive —

a soft reminder that even in the dim,

something inside me

still wants to move.

The signs flicker overhead,

glitching like they’re whispering

in a language meant only for us.

Your eyes catch the shine,

and for a moment

I see the world the way you do —

bright edges, warm static,

a beauty built from fracture.

We aren’t rushing anywhere.

We aren’t lost.

We’re just drifting

along the city’s quiet heartbeat,

letting the glow wrap around us

like a promise

that the night won’t swallow everything.

Neon pulse —

carrying me forward

even on the nights

I can’t carry myself.