An Ode To Her Memories Poem by Arvin Stark

I swipe off your dead skin
that has taken the form of dirt,
every time I clean my room.
But somehow the dirt stays within the gap
between the walls and the floor.
And sometimes, when I look at it
while lying on the queen size mattress
that has no cot beneath it,
but only the cold and hard tiled floor,
I scrape it up with my fingernails
that have grown excessively.
But then, the dirt takes shelter
between the skin and the nail.
And even though, I try to remove it,
It doesn't go away.
Travelling from one fingernail to another,
it stays with me.
Reminding me of the things
I need to cut off.