Didn’t know I had a bite,
hidden and queer,
but the doctor
took a good hard look

said it wasn’t right, awful bad,
might just burn me,
burn me
an eternity.

Said don’t worry,
applying cream once
a week should
keep the hell away.

It had never burned,
but I used the cream,
which began to bug me,
badly

in the dark I’d scratch it,
‘til it bled, ‘til it was
black and
ready to rot

ridden with ****,
I oozed and withered,
but I was so set to
stop the burning.

A friend said it wasn’t
a bite at all, but a
birthmark, covered
in snake oil.

I fired my doctor forever,
quit the cream, and
cleared up
      just
              like
                     that.