nobody knows if you’re real. they won’t dare speak to you. free to be and not exist. a classic. a dialectic. wander the streets fueled by peanut butter cups. watch them all path back to home. doors close out the cold night. nobody calls for you. grotesque carved faces flicker and laugh. nowhere to go. nobody cares. you lick your fingers to rub off the paint and the ghostly palor remains. now wander the streets for eternity.