There was a person who, one day, decided to wear their neighbor’s skin. A new day. A new face. 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.
