For one, camouflage’s original purpose was for its wearer to be hidden. To be anonymous in crowds.
To strain at appearing normal even if you can barely conceal your spines.
I won’t say wings. For me, thorns possess the same splendor as feathers.
Even if for many, bitterness can be an armor deadly as poison.
Moreover, camouflage signifies constant warfare. Covert battles.
You see where I’m going?
Of course you don’t. You can only feel the breeze rustling through foliage.
Now you see me, now you don’t.
Even in my writing, I strive to erase my tracks.