This form is a bad joke,
Suited best to lost caverns,
Yet necessity demands it be revealed at times,
Stripped of its daily vestments,
Revealed to the gaze,
Though I don’t wish to be uncovered like a relic,
My skin cowers from the light,
Anathema to my shy soul,
I feel unsafe outside my fabric armour,
Unarmed and abashed,
Vulnerable and languid,
My body longs for rescue from the wardrobe,
My mirror cracks at the sight,
Everyone’s a critic,
Not that I can argue,
Oh to be a vampire,
To be hidden ever by silk and polyester,
As invisible as I should be.
WorldofHarley 