Its not very long.
I strode across a street in a town without a name,
There wasn't a person to be seen as I walked,
But somehow, I was being followed,
He strode quietly, thus, I was being stalked,
This person was not a he however,
Or a she, merely an "it",
Wreathed in a black cloth of darkness,
Darker than a bottomless pit,
It moved behind me in plain site and did not dare to hide,
I am afraid to admit that this thing did indeed look like me,
But without the details a person could have,
There was no mouth, or nose or eyes to see,
Just a blank black blob,
It was tied to my feet,
And not a thing to its name did it posses.