Are we really living, or are we just husks —

Molted, discarded flesh without bones or souls?

At a soiree, he skulks through the crowd,

Sipping his black russian, staring people down.

His steps were odd and strained, like he wasn't used to the motion.

Not a person noticed that his shoes were on the wrong feet.

Men and women alike felt an attraction towards him,

Chatting at him, not caring how he responded.

Occasionally, his laugh rang out in the ballroom,

Gently vibrating champagne glasses with its slightly booming note.

Behind his bright eyes, there was something cold,

Clinical, calculating — almost depressed.

Something dark and sinister looked back through his smile,

From deep behind his lips and his tongue.

Deciding to say a few words in a deeper voice,

The people around him looked at him intently.

After a spectacular moment of verbal wit, a woman swooned into his arms,

And he walked her carefully back to a lounging room to rest.

—

When she came to, the man was standing away from her,

His back turned, which she noticed was covered in dust.

Spinning around, in his right hand was a white smart phone

And in his left hand was a glass of sherry.

He smiled a toothy grin for a little too long before composing himself.

Moving her hair out of her eyes and straightening her purple dress,

She tried to stand, but her legs gave way beneath her.

The woman realized she was a captive audience to the man,

But something about his demeanor calmed her nerves.

As she watched the man curiously,

She saw that there was a slight vibration to his skin.

The vibrations grew to convulsions,

And little bumps and valleys formed on the man's epidermis.

A timer went off on the smartphone in his hand,

And he let go of the sherry and the phone,

Broken glass and alcohol spreading across the floor.

A thin crack emerged across his sternum,

And a grotesque insect leg jutted its way out.

The veil lifted, the woman suddenly became aware of the man's strangeness,

And horror, and her own deep disgust.

She expelled some of her sickness by vomiting, and,

Returning her eyes to the man,

She found that his skin and clothes were now simply a pile on the floor,

Lifeless glass eyes staring back at her.

On the ceiling was a winged creature, the size of a car,

With a million eyes and dark camouflage wings.