Peculiar Vomit Poem by V N

Orange is the colour of the world when one rise
with its rays, ones sloth can suffice
Under the black night before the morning sun
Oh how I regret what I had done
'The night is still young'
made someone dance to its lustful song
desires awaken like owls at dark unfolds
passionate and fiery
hoping the night never goes old
this seems familiar
how did it come?
But I locked the door
is this how thieves looks to some
it didn't take anything, but left something to sow
and now I wish that I had said the word no
I thought I hated its song
a hatred that moves as the sun dawns
as the morning sun climbs back to its throne
I'd give anything to hear that midnight voice
to heat it sing once more