By Mark A. Leon

Fuck, I’m bored
Shit, I’m safe

Cheap cigarettes, a cold beer
Maybe a malt liquor to numb the pain of this boredom
In the woods, we meet
Under the stars, away from the heat

The philosophy of time; the meaning of rhyme
Tunes from the boom box
Here we are, together in our little space

Sitting on the rock, crickets in the distance
Alone in our thoughts
Another night just like this
Maybe a grope, maybe a fight
That is life on the suburban side

Bonfire of sings
Suburban innocence

We’re all the same
Trapped in isolation, going a little insane
A passage from our journals in which we dream to someday escape all these restless nights

My brothers
My sisters
My childhood rites
No black, nor white, nor Indian or Asian too
In the land of suburbia, everyone knows you

I hear neighbors to the left lost in a mind fuck of virtual reality
To the right domestic bliss wrapped in a fist

Cheap liquor our favorite cologne
A condom and a kiss right after the prom
Lock and load the sirens chase you in the night
Nine months to life is all I can see
A 10 x 10 cell, these football memories and her and me

Another day
Another night
Sunrise, sunset

In the grey, we all can see suburbia inside of you and me