Your tattoos mean nothing
they are a moment of confidence within a lifetime
of conformity. But can you grow old as an outlaw?
Your piercings are decoration
they do not imply to me a cultural rebellion
which conveys real strength. Can you be more than a symbol?
Your anarchy is a painting
it is a fashion of fictitious individualistic fissure;
a facade to hide behind. Can you protect the uncool?
Your righteousness is hollywood
it is the plague of weakness which feeds the sins
of ego. Can you stand alone for what is truly right?
I have lived long enough now on both sides of the curtain
to understand the difference between the tough and the strong
the lustful and the passionate
the fabricators and the artists
the beautiful and the attractive
the pin-up and the muse
the rebel and the individual
Your masks are repulsive
they hide the rare gem of life you have been gifted with
Can you truly expose yourself?