Rolling Back the Years

Each pass of the roller peels back my skin,

layer by layer, collecting the past,

like cat hair clinging to fabric, my sins,

reminders of warmth, and the love that won’t last.

I find little memories stuck in the sheet,

a whisper of laughter that hangs in the air,

what once was a moment now tastes bittersweet—

a ghost in the fibers, the threadbare of care.

Rolling away what I thought I could hide,

layer upon layer, I sift through regret,

a sticky embrace where my secrets abide,

as lint clings to stories I’ll never forget.