Neon Venom

Colder than a body on ice, I’m the Wicced one, I’m forbidden desire, rotten fruit, and unholy smoke, oh come on honey, I’m the one that can set you on fire, oh come on, I can take you higher! If you’re looking for trouble, I’ll take your life, and you’ll never be the same.

Night slides down the skyline, slick and silver, dripping secrets onto the empty streets. In the hush between heartbeats, I slip through the breach—half shadow, half wildfire—trailing chaos in my wake. The city pulses beneath my boots, neon veins throbbing with anticipation, every alleyway a whispered invitation to cross the line. I am the silhouette flickering in your peripheral vision, the laughter that trails off just as you turn, the promise of trouble too enchanting to resist. Every footfall is a summons, every glance a wicked game, and the air itself vibrates with the magnet of forbidden possibilities. You sense a storm gathering—electric, relentless, and so deliciously close. Smoke swirls from my lips, thick with promise and peril, as shadows gather in the corners, hungry and expectant. My laughter cracks like thunder across the hush, shattering the line between pleasure and pain. Every word is a spark tossed onto gasoline-laced dreams, and every glance is a dare that coils around your soul, pulling you nearer to the edge. I am midnight’s confession, the hush before the storm, the secret craving you can’t quite name—dangerous, irresistible, and always just out of reach. A flicker of something dangerous glimmers in my eyes—a wildfire smile, electric and untamed. Under the neon haze, temptation sharpens its claws, prowling the space between us, humming with reckless promise. You feel the heat before you see the flame, a pulse that slides beneath your skin, inviting you to surrender caution and taste the wicked rhythm thundering through the dark.