Sand

Skin flakes
off of my face
like grains of sand;
so many pieces,
that I won’t notice until
they’re all gone
and all that’s left is me:
every shaky movement and
awkward misstep,
every gross, exaggerated mannerism
and disgusting lie
that I have ever hidden here.

I would
place my hands to the wall, flat,
scrunch up my eyes
and let the memories ooze
out of my palms
as if they were never there;
as if they would disappear forever.

“Where am I going?”
Asks the crumbling man.