I’m trying to erase the marks you left all over me,
But every time I get those three words down to just smudges,
You come in, pen in hand,
Tracing over old songs and phrases,
Smothering me so I can no longer stand.
You hand me my eraser, whispering three words,
But never again
The ones I want to hear.
“Get to work”, you say, and walk away.
I look down, eraser in hand, prepared for nothing but
The absolute worst.