Letting go

When I begin to purge you from my consciousness, you pervade my sleep instead. You mine away with such precision and depth until you hit a chord that shakes me awake, leaving too little a trail for me to gather the fragments of whatever warranted the jolting, but staining the fringes of my mind enough so I know, I remember, like an oil spill whose effects lasts and lasts and cuts the air off from anything trying to live, quietly, underneath. Slick, indeed. Damn the cut so deep it seeps down into my soul.