What to do?

It began with my capable cape,
When it started to try to escape.
Followed then by my glorious boots,
Which jumped up and assaulted my glutes.
My tights, afright, did slither from sight.
My mask, aghast, did hide from the light.
So it seems to me that I'm a host
To an unwelcome and nasty ghost.

Oh how can it be? Why me? Why me?
Oh what can I do? I've not a clue.
But I should have known and been prepared;
Not a wretched fool and so impaired.
My p'sona would laugh resoundingly,
And deal with the ghost astoundingly.
But can't you see? That's truly not me.
Oh foo, oh foo. I'll sit and be blue.