My unserstanding of the Great Gatsby in a poem!

Looking down my street, glittered faces shining as if they were famous. 
All visitors sad, lonely, insecure, mad, and condemned from their society, come to party and run from shame. Shameless lives, they tend to mask themselves in their lies. Running into Mr. Jack Violent's glorious palace off the edge of my lawn. Day and night he hosted many of his parties. Yet he never shows up in his own meetings filled with total strangers. Though he just has open bashes. He really does have a reason for such crashes, and clashes, and dashes in his home. But he is covered. Rumoured by secrets, it has shadowed the truth of his own self, that he might not even know who he is. Mr. Violent seems so bliss with wealth! Yet nobody to share, text, call, no email adress, he just stays home lonely. Seems as if his own home is obsolete. Everyone uses it except for the owner. What does he want?
Is it to taunt others? (As the rumors say so). So many questions. So many resolutions for one of them. This man was such a mystery. I was afraid to even ask for his history. Whatever lies before his handsome looks, might a cruel beast. For the past two days. He has been out of his home weirdly enough. I saw him smiling through the windshield of his shining spotless four wheeled elise vehicle. Soon even more outrages rumors spread. They say he stabbed a man with a sickle for a hamburger. Funny he , out of all the people killed for food. Two days later buzz on him was he was killed for buying a cat or some kids were dared to kill him. Oh what a grim, never knew him.... Ooh! Dr. Zoidberg is having a celebration.