It feels good to erase.
To wipe clean, to cleanse.
I lay in bed at night, my day built up in layers
Of sweat, and dirt, and sunlight on my skin.
And in my mind it swirls, dark and light seconds,
Collapsing into one another to form the perfect average day.
As I reflect on the hours I have lived since the last time I laid there, soaked in sheets and minutes, I flip through my mind.
Casually like a magazine.
Pausing at interesting articles,
Or colors that catch my eye.
It has a mind of its own, you know.
Some days though,
As I leaf through the yellowed pages,
All I want to do is erase.