I sleep in my clothes

I want to disappear.  

To grow smaller and smaller, 

less and less noticeable,

until I wink out of existence.

I sleep in my clothes.

I am not talking about what you think I am.

That act is abrupt, and has an impact.

It calls attention, and upsets.

It leaves a void.  

Which is not what I want. 

I keep my shades drawn.

I want to disappear.  

To be forgotten.

So that when I slip beneath the surface of this world,

I do not leave a ripple.