Not just the fabric
the fashion, the shape
the cloak I leave behind
a reminder of me
continuing to live
long after I have ceased
Some full-sleeved
trying to conceal
what I had up them
when I put more than
my arms in
Some plain, unassuming
not giving away
what I was up to
when up to nothing
Some faded in colour
over years of hanging out
in stifled surroundings
Hues of the tumult
I didn't betray
still holding on tight
Some just comfortable to a fault
accommodating by design
leaving me to oft forget
I was even wearing them
as an escape from life
The burr of a being
The most most could see of me,
Very me yet not me
by measures any
My wardrobe is full
of stories and lives
that'd outlive me
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