Neon epilogue

The clock’s teeth grind,
against your broken smile,
time's brittle spine,
hands tick-tock-tapping like the nervous cough of God.
The city hums a hymn of gasoline prayers,
each flickering streetlight a confession undone.

I saw a man in a window’s shattered grin,
his shadow whispered, "Can you save, but nobody here.”
The pavement drank his bloodshot dreams,
left his soul dangling from a rusted payphone cord,
Outside a shattered phonebooth.

And you
clutching your golden mirage,
your designer faith,
your fragile tower of platitudes
Do you still sleep with the lights on?
Afraid of your truths in dark,
Do you still sing to a world deafened by greed?

Yesterday, the moon collapsed into the gutter,
a soft whisper drowned by the shriek of sirens.
A child clutched a plastic pistol,
its barrel still hot with televised revolution.

But you blink, and it’s all gone,
just another ghost in the glow of a neon cross.

The preacher sold his scripture for a can of spray paint,
and scrawled on the temple walls:
"Truth is a vending machine without a slot for change.”

Don’t bother knocking on my door;
the hinges rusted with old regrets,
the keyhole sealed with dried apologies.
Loneliness seeps in from the cracks in my broken walls,
dripping into a empty bottle labeled "drink me."

But let’s not get sentimental.
This is just a song for the damned,
a dance for the desperate,
a eulogy for what never was once before.

And when the sky burns,
when the wind forgets its name,
and the earth rolls over to sleep
will you still laugh at your reflection in the broken mirror?
Seeking substance from shadows?
Seeking substance
evermore?

Saying you have something to offer!
And you will not dare to look behind!
Or will the joke finally be on you?
Will my words crucify your mind.