My closet is agape
And on my bed
All wrapped in nylone
My old self, neatly folded
Like some forgotten prom attire

My hands unzip the bag
And clime out of
My naphthaline nest
Unfolding legs with careful thought
Brushing off the hollowed torso
Gently stroking the creases of my face

I unravel, and climb into myself
And after all those years
A perfect fit
My skin is barely streatched
My breath, just a bit heavy
My eyes, just a bit clouded
My voice, still mute

Hello old man
You aged as well
I wished we've never met