Oedipus at Work

I'm reliving a page long unturned in my mind. I'm jerking off in my teenage bedroom. I had seen my mother naked in the shower… just a mistake, a matter of an unlocked fate - nothing really, yet that image lingers on as a gatecrashing life-video. I have prayed to that blank-faced reaper, (he with his darkly tinted tabula raza), for a clean reset, or at least a selective amnesia, yet a visual memory will dissolve only to reform again before my inner eye. Ever since, young Oedipus has begun to dig, determined unto death to bury a vision. Sixty years later he is still hard at work.