The sun went down, the moon rose high,
Underneath a mocking sky.
But Malcolm found no peace in sleep,
With a secret he was forced to keep.
A prickle turned into a flame,
An itch that had no face or name.
He tried the "Twist" and then the "Grind,"
Searching for a peace of mind.
He did a lap around the rug,
Giving his hips a desperate tug.
But like a shadow in the night,
The itch stayed just beyond his sight.
He swapped his boxers for the silk,
He drank a glass of soothing milk.
He tried to meditate away
The torment of his frantic day.
"I am a mountain, still and tall,"
He whispered to the bedroom wall.
But then it jumped, a sudden spark,
A jagged lightning in the dark!
He broke his zen, he lost his cool,
He felt like such a rhythmic fool.
He rolled and tumbled on the bed,
With visions of sandpaper in his head.
The stars looked down on Malcolm’s plight,
A lonely warrior in the night.
For though he fought with all his might,
The itch remained—tight, and bright.
A battle fought, a battle lost,
At such a heavy, scratching cost
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 6:58 AM UTC
The sun went down, the moon rose high,
Underneath a mocking sky.
But Malcolm found no peace in sleep,
With a secret he was forced to keep.
A prickle turned into a flame,
An itch that had no face or name.
He tried the "Twist" and then the "Grind,"
Searching for a peace of mind.
He did a lap around the rug,
Giving his hips a desperate tug.
But like a shadow in the night,
The itch stayed just beyond his sight.
He swapped his boxers for the silk,
He drank a glass of soothing milk.
He tried to meditate away
The torment of his frantic day.
"I am a mountain, still and tall,"
He whispered to the bedroom wall.
But then it jumped, a sudden spark,
A jagged lightning in the dark!
He broke his zen, he lost his cool,
He felt like such a rhythmic fool.
He rolled and tumbled on the bed,
With visions of sandpaper in his head.
The stars looked down on Malcolm’s plight,
A lonely warrior in the night.
For though he fought with all his might,
The itch remained—tight, and bright.
A battle fought, a battle lost,
At such a heavy, scratching cost
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
