The hat I wear stays the same, but the skin underneath it has fallen. Deep inward. Carrying the muscles, bones, organs along with it. Fast and soundless. Like if a trash bag filled with discarded items, all trying to take one last breath by poking through its plastic domain, collapsed in on itself. But after, like my clothes, the can the trash bag was in stays perfectly the same. Silver, clanging, and glistening. With no evidence that there ever was garbage to begin with. I exist as clothes. And only clothes. You still know I’m human based on the way my decorations drape. It’s interesting to think that the value of the can is never dependent on the trash inside it. That’s how I feel. Just here. Ready to be used for what I’m used for.