when the neon spills

when the neon spills
it seems to go around the hills of her body.
smoking kills
but so does living.
always in search for thrills
but not interested in giving.

when the neon spills
the fluorescence loses its color.
in love with the features
of her own face.
she’s scared of the future
with age comes beautiful disgrace.

when the neon spills
the modern artists start to cry.
“most modern art is great”
could say that, but it’d be a lie.
most of my poems are modern art
consider it excrement in need of some acidic lye.

when the neon spills
how it turns into thin air.
people will always have something to say
even when you’re not there.
people will always ‘admire’ the art
but all they are, is empty stares.

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