I itch.
Like ticks and fleas are covering me
Like insulation flows along the air I'm breathing shallow to cease this itch that craves release from my incessant will.
A warden then?
I've held to many in contempt to acknowledge the comparison.
Shed now blame to another less gluttonous soul my eyes prop up to hang.
This itch, I bear the weighted shackles, my pierced abdomen cries for any patch to fill it.
I refuse the temptation, becoming now a wanderer of egrigore. Watch this gore pour out this festering itch more now than ever since it's initial scritch and scratch
My path behind a tar black trapping
My road ahead not looking much better.