Its always darkest in suburbia.
Metal sentries stare through
clear lenses, guarding postage
stamp cookie cutter cracker boxes.
False reality
blares and blinks
through curtained eyes,
isolating, distracting
solidifying the addiction.
Deserted cul de sac
ghost towns are brightened
by sun beating down
on empty shells
situated on plush green
carpet shapes.
Without meaningful interaction,
inhabitants turn inward embracing
the illusion of security.
It’s always darkest in suburbia.
Masses of silent desperation
are always on, always lit,
hidden behind perfect facades.