I can't look good.
I'm not wearing the right clothes,
They're just not for me even though I want it to be that way,
to be that way would be nice.

Waking in september,
I could use a splash of color today,
I could use an advancement today,
somebody special may notice today,
these new clothes I have on,
maybe notice me, too.

Trying to stop the threads from wrapping around my neck,
the spools laughing like fools,
Trying to keep my skin unseen,
Because that vulnerability is dangerous, so I now,
prepare for a ****** day.

Years pass by like strangers in Manhattan,
Head to toe, covered in fashion,
Hat for a head,
Shoes, socks for feet.
Belts, buttons, silks, leathers, gloves,
all wrapped in heavy jackets.
Sunglasses. My eyes are faulty,
They can't be seen. Must remain shaded.
No skin anywhere so, my wish is granted.

Big brand names all over my body,
but somehow nameless.

The seams start to wither,
Like nature does do,
Arms of sweaters fall to threads,
Fibers of cotton fill the area,
Moths become alert.
All the garments fade into oblivion but the interesting part -
No nakedness underneath the glamour, only nothingness.
A plume of fattened moths and dust scatter,
The clothes fell down and there was an empty space.