A poem by Derrek Faraday 

He walked into the bar, a buzz in the cornerWith fists upon each other;A self-appeaser, a demonizerWith a picture of Christ in the corner.A junkie posing as a mannequinFor the lost kids from the suburbs.A rockstar singing testimoniesTo his significant others. Careful, they might criticize your point of view.It’s just the neons and the gutters,The mundane-marveled life.The signs only omit what you realize.It’s how we deal with each other,It’s how we share our beds,With the promise that we're stars, no less.It’s not a sign.Radio beats on null-head streets,And monotonous synchronizing.People pummel oil drums,Emphasize on heavy flooding.The local drug store is the placeFor sanity verification.Latex gloves deem what we'll findIn the underbelly of this nation.Careful, they might criticize your point of view.It’s just the neons and gutters,The written, free life.We see it all, but that's not realized.Why do we act as fodder?It’s how we share our bedsWith the promise, we'll come back to a caress.It’s not a sign.I'm not you, or who we are.I've no clue; maybe that's alright.I love peace; you hate war.We clash heads; maybe that's alright.I'm getting paid; you're a star.I don't bother; maybe that's alright.I've got kids; you have a car.We're all doomed; maybe that's alright.We'll be fine.We're divine.We've no crimes.We save our dimes.We keep time.We'll be fine. Featured Image (modified) CC0