Fashion

I have all these magazines, what did they teach me? Rags collecting dust in a pile beneath me paint splattered down my body - eccentricity it excites me, moreover it revolts me what would they say if i adorned them indefinitely? then you know who I am, what I was born to be but this cloth isn’t a product of my creativity i am what you are and what they claim to be always with one eye on the damned hierarchy pick it up pass it on it’s tiring being free rat race, faster pace catching up with me blinded by hunger for futile individuality but each day the face of anonymity rears its blessed head for only I to see when the rags of the riches are like gold dust to me pick it up pass it on it’s tiring being free