The day is filled with leftover smoke
Covering my narcissistic peers
Quietly creeping into their broken and beaten minds
Spilling over from last night's party
Evenings of dress up and playing pretend
Trying to sweep me up
Dumping melodramatic materialism all over me
They worry of looks not their own
The looks of thieves
Stealers of individual intuition
They want me to follow in those paths

Roads of chaotic people lost

But I stay on streets styled by myself
While eagerness drapes over their bodies
Silk seducing the naive flesh of insecurity
Worms wrapping them in poisonous perceptions
Threading each being together as nobodies

Just one savage wolf tearing at self-discovery
A howl-like tragedy at the flick of every new generation

Leslieann Elle Santiago

Stylist | Writer | Curator