This Isn'T You
this isn't you
not your style
guttural rasps
that barely scratch the surface;
this isn't you
not your style at all
too many remnants of memory
when time held you in place;
I see your dark shadows
walking close behind you
small, minuscule and demure
but still walking are the ghosts of you;
this isn't you
not the pseudo images, well-formed
from the very heartbeat
of which you were born.
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