Neon signs blink through the night.

There are so many of them.

Screaming at me without a tone.

Calling for a certain decision to be made.

One that might be drowned out in the end.

***

They burn cold.

Bringing me no comfort.

Only of what to do or not do.

No actual promises given.

Visual aid of who created the sign missing.

A kind of plasma that exists to warn me and nothing further.

***

They all blink on and off endlessly.

Whenever I see them I cry.

Panic of which one I am supposed to listen to.

Not every one should exist.

False flags built on the house of cards that is anxiety.

The real signs signifying blaringly loud hidden mines.

***

I trust the maker of the real signs.

I do not trust myself.

There are simply so many.

I never want the awful feeling again.

Puzzle pieces clicking together after it is too late.

Cold signs left behind still lit endlessly.