There are those people who are like bars late at night - lonely, gloomy, far away from everything and everyone and don't give a dime about the rest of the world.

Eyes cold like a shot of whiskey between the fingers of a stranger sitting in the corner, voices rasping like a muffled melody coming from the lone radio and souls dim like air striped with dense smoke lazily tangling towards the ceiling.
Mysterious strangers, leaned back in their bar stools, seem so unconcerned, while beneath the leather jackets and the calm, a thousand concerns had already scarred their skin. They've seen the worst of it, now all that's left is to drive up to a bar outside the city and drink up the whiskey.
It would seem there is no sadder, lonelier place that this one, but come a little closer. Look at the stranger's eyes, look at all the stories, hear his battle when he speaks hoarsely, look at the pictures smokey fingers had painted. You'll see life in such a different way, you'll see the beauty of its grays and blacks, its silence and its dark. The buzzing of a broken sign outside will tell you this is a place for the broken ones who don't want to be fixed. Call them misfits, but they're the ones who've learnt to live with their demons. After all, there's something relieving in seeing ourselves completely fallen apart. And something captivating tempting us to stay that way. Just like mirrors, no person shatters in the same way. So, why would i give up something that finally feels entirely mine?
And maybe this once, dark will be more familiar, soothing and close than light has ever been.

Gloomy October, gloomy theme. Just trying out different types of writing here guys so i thought, why not?