I got an itch and I never scratch it. I wish I could attack it with hatchets have at it like addicts, -get higher than attics smother it like asthmatics. ***** out its flame. Cause the itch lays the tracks for train in my brain just a scratch and I know that I'd go insane, so the itch just remains. Simple and plain. But the itch won't control me cause scratchin it won't console me the comfort it brings is phony even when I feel lonely. I used scratch without noticing in an itchless-ness bliss, until I scratched my self raw a fact that I somehow missed. that's when you know that you're trapped, all that you can do is scratch cause if you don't then you'll crash a striked match turned to ash. you've gone and burned out all your midnight oil nothing left from feasting spoiled the itch makes your blood boil. who knew that the pleasure that came from this friction would turn against you so fast and create an addiction there's no predictions for scratching but for the scratching itself except scratching always leaves you lonely cause you just scratch yourself and I wish I could shut these problems off with a switch, but I got ninety-nine problems and the itch is the *****.