syberea

you see what you think is cool and you mold yourself into it to fot the bill, to fit an external image of what you could be. you make the appearance of that thing. you walk down the street and see all those people in their images of what they could be, looking so intimidating, looking like so much. things they say they like strewned about them like advertisements for their personalities. what would you have if you took away all the accessories, the jobs, the clothes, the image, the drugs, the scene...you would have streets upon streets of naked frightened children. i wont lie, i am guilty as fuck, but at least i see through the illusion of it.