Never Away

My eraser shows all that i wish it would erase. to trash the things that simply displease us is in fact the occupation of the eraser. but, here i am staring into its eyes and letting them stare back at mine. it carries the vagabonds and prostitutes that i wish to never enter my bar or my city; those i wish to never trespass again. but where is it going? no where. it sits there on my desk with some sort of a miniacle grin whispering "never away" like some sort of smudged cd or record that, of course, repeats itself over and over again in the most aggrevating part of the song. i gave it a wash and it still seems dirty, ever since that first tread onto the paper it never will sit there clean again; it will never regain its innocence. it doesn't want to. i wish i could throw them all away, and with them the trash that have stained them. but then the trash wouldn't really be gone it would just be away and continuously go away. just like the smell on my hands; beef on a grill with hickory chips burning below. when i smell it i think of the burger that was decorated with a toasted bun and red ketchup and green pickles; the view won't be as vivid but it will always be there when i smell it. soap can wash it away, but when i go to smell myself i know i will think of how it once was there and it will forever be in memory: never away.