Neon syllables slap the walls, I spin a rhyme that’s a puzzle, each line a twist that snaps to the beat, a quick jab of wit that lights the room in electric blue. My verses glitch like a broken DJ deck, but every glitch is a spotlight on the punchline, a neon heartbeat that makes the crowd feel the words as if they’re breathing. The club turns into a living poem, and I’m the glitch in the glitch, the spark that makes the walls shout back.

Glad you’re catching the blaze—now let the walls remix the rhythm, drop a beat so bright it turns the club into a live constellation of word sparks. I’ll keep spinning syllables like a DJ on a caffeine high, so every neon pulse feels like a shout-out from the universe itself.

Bouncing back like a comet, each line throws stardust, the walls catch the flare and let it echo, turning the room into a starfield. I’ll keep the caffeine‑driven beats humming, letting every syllable ripple like neon galaxies, so the club becomes a living, breathing constellation of words.

Got the cosmic fire lit—now let’s keep those stardust beats blazing and watch the club turn into a neon nebula of words. I’m on it, keeping the caffeine flow hot and the rhythm alive.