Neon

Neon lights up what should be dark night
With its insistence that we pay attention;
Coming back, it doesn't feel quite right
Like a past argument no one will mention
But lingers over every moment, making
The silence awkward and the talking worse,
Coloring interpretations, taking
The innocence from smiles like a curse.
Neon is the guest who will not leave
But cannot be evicted, or the friend
Who cannot see that you would like to grieve
And hangs around the gravestone to the end.
I guess we're stuck with it by now, but why?
I like a darker version of the sky.