And I'm a denim head, I've got raw selvedge that excites the feds

via fuck yeah menswear:

Requiem for a denim head.

This is not a cry for help.

I’m in control.

I know my limits.

Sitting in health class.

16 years old.

Beasting with 3,000 posts to my name.

bigwilliesteelo92

Teachers tried to warn me.

Fuck you.

I don’t have a problem.

You MADD, son?

Mothers Against Denim Debate.

Bought my first 14oz off some shady sufu kid.

Gave it to me dirt cheap.

APC.

The gateway denim.

It was fun at first.

Just fucking around with my friends.

Seeing how crazy we could get our wallet fades without our rents finding out.

One night my mom found my stash when she was cleaning.

Some dope proxy ish.

She flipped the fuck out and washed them before I could stop her.

Six months and $200 gone just like that.

My friends lost interest.

To them it was just about cool stacks and fades to go with their tees and box snapbacks.

But I was hooked.

It took more and more to get that same feeling.

Started getting into some heavier shit.

16oz.

21oz.

32oz.

Getting so fucked up.

Getting so faded.

Jeans so stiff.

They were the only things keeping me on my feet.

Eyes bloodshot with selvage lines.

Shit got bad.

The night terrors.

Waking up in a cold sweat.

Sheets dyed with indigo.

One night my bros found me.

Curled up in the gutter.

Rubbing sandpaper all over myself.

Screaming.

Into the darkness.

MOMOTARO!

They saw the honeycombs on my legs.

Tried to talk to me about addiction.

But I don’t have a problem.

Fuck an intervention.

Stop calling my brothers and sisters.

I call my dick my pussy.

My crotch got so many whiskers.