Gently remove our daytime skins.
Our fabrics, itching us, scratching us.
Making us uncomfortable.
Take them off. Into the hamper they go.
It's not enough.
Itches. Scratches. They persist.
More. More. Closer to birth than we've been since
that fatefulfateful day.
Come clean. Cleaner than ever before.
Down to skin and bones.
Our bare bodies.
Knobby knees. Rigid ribs. Hard hips.
Milky white skin. Pearlescent in the moonglow.
Tonight's darkness trapping our flesh.
Peel away the layers. The skin is too much.
Loosen it up. Slide the meat off our bones.
Tendons, muscles relax. Create slack, then pull back.
String by string. Gone. Everything.
The blood trickles to the floor.
Making a mess, but keeping us clean. Cleansed.
Free. Our bones hollow stone.
Our skeletons clanking, clashing.
Becoming brittle. We snap. Crack.
The scrapes and flakes amount.
The bones shaking and falling.
Together. 'Til we're all just
one big pile of dust,
waiting for the morning cleaning crew to come sweep us up.