Tabula Rasa

It used to be there, hovering in the periphery of your mind, a blank shape in a squalid landscape. You used to trip and stumble and find glittering things in the grass and hold them up to the light to catch the colours. Now everything is being erased. Because that thing that used to hover is growing, rolling over the desolation and swallowing every blade of grass and every glint of silver and every hint of sky. It's washing away everything. You're turning into a blank slate.