Give me the image of my soul

I wish it would come
The day dream figure
The half-imagined stab at truth
I wish it would come into night time
Make itself less amorphous
More obvious and real
Like the feelings feel
A wardrobe, or mannequin
To hang them from
Tattered flags
Bin bags
Coutured or furred with flash of gold
Old mouldy wrinkled crinkled scaled
Flayed slayed shaved craven
Give me the image of my soul
Let us shake hands and talk of being whole.