Skins

There once was a person
who, one day, decided
to wear their neighbor’s
skin.
　
A new day.
A new face.
Let's begin.
　
But once the sun set,
they found
they weren’t done
yet.
　
They crept next door,
peeled back more,
another neighbor’s
flesh to store.
　
Soon, it wasn’t
enough.
They wandered streets
with quiet feet,
ripping skins
from everyone they’d meet.
　
One for each moment.
One for each mood.
A wardrobe stitched
from solitude.
　
But standing still,
they strained to recall
who they were
before they wore
them all.