Why?
What are you?
I am no one.
I want what I'm supposed to want.
I wear what I'm suppoesd to wear.
I work what I'm supposed to work.
I stand for nothing.
I've never fought in a war and I probably won't ever have to, cause the next one's gonna kill us all.
I can buy things I can't afford, which means they're never really mine.
I don't live.
I don't live.
I accumulate.
I'm a brand—, a middle-class white guy.
But you're who you are even though the price you pay for it, is being disinvited from the rest of the world.
I'm the one playing dressing-up. Is it wrong to want to be with one of the few people, in the world who isn't to have one person in my life who I know is real?
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