It hurts.
It itches.
It heals.
Then forgotten.
But usually,
It scars.

Some nights
those old scars
hurt as much
as the day
they happened.
Itch as much
as if freshly healed.
Some nights they
are raw and they sting
even though they
are old and closed.
Some nights you feel
them burning and hurting
deep inside your mind
old wounds,
mental and physical
they itch and sting
long after they have
"healed"
sealed.

Scratch it out, scratch it into a tree.
Put it down in history, or erase it from memory.
Just don't go insane, you know it's not necessary.

Anger, Sorrow, Happiness, Jealousy
Gears of my personality
Rotating in the commotion
Shifts in  the air making it hard to breathe

Leaving should be easy but
Makes me queasy

Felt the warmth radiate off you,
Hands touching the skin on my cheek,
Your voice vibrating through my body

"YOUR MY *****!"

The thought of him makes me itch

Something lives below my skin,
It’s burrowed down, deep within
It burns my body, wearing me thin
And that ***** won’t ever give in

It scrabbles and rives, as I tear me apart
With nails like knives, so close to my heart
I claw at my limbs with fingers that seek
To split open my flesh, the tissue so weak

Blood busts forth as I tear at the itch
As I work hard to get rid of this *****
My nails dyed red, I can not stop now
The need so strong, to exorcise it somehow

Covered in scars, scabbing and sore
As I cry with the pain, limbs ragged and raw
I pause for a moment waiting to see
If it is no longer residing in me

Holding my breath, maybe its gone
If I can’t rid myself of this wrong
This dark demon will drive me insane
But it comes crawling again and again

Something lives below my skin,
It’s burrowed down, deep within
It burns my body, wearing me thin
And that ***** won’t ever give in

A grim vision on prescription pills
A future you hope there's still time to avoid.
Because beneath all the cheery waving
And bubbling surface-level conversation
Lurks the same bad wound that won't heal if it's covered.

That itches

Just turns to stagnant mush
Sticking to the crusted pillow.
Yearning for fresh air
Aching for exposure, the sun and wind and rain and stars.
Desperate to impress, to repulse
To spread beyond the derelict tomb
To which this episode of history has been condemned to rot.

So become not the pitiful ****
Upon whom your judging eye scornfully rests,
And instead burst forth in a tidal wave
Of hot bile and vitriol
Dripping from the bloodied fingernails.

It will not be pretty
But then neither are you.

Malicious destruction
In childlike confusion.
A twisted affair
Left both so unaware.
Their bodies met without a care.
A mindless lust
Crushed into abyss...

I tried to scratch the poison out
All those years ago.
Thought I had bled you out,
All of this, everything about you, go.

You and I: a poison
Toxic
Rabid chaos
A deadly end.
Toxic
Unsatiated desire
Neither of us could quench
Toxic.

To my surprise
And our sweet demise,
Each other, once again we found.
Indescribable pleasure,
A rekindled fire.
Our bodies met without a care.
Mindless lust
Crashed to the ground.
You and I: a poison.
Toxic.... Till the end.

It started with an itch
something so mild and unexpected
barely brought into existence, yet there
once acquainted to its surroundings
it slowly grew into a being
it was selfish, demanding
this creature knew only hunger
its own desire fueling its every action
pushing and pulling at everything
screaming and crying out so loudly
it was the only thing that was heard
finally receiving the attention
that it longed for
then...
it vanished

no sooner than it had taken
for it to become something,

it then fades into nothing.
Forgotten.

my
mistakes
troubles
ideas
hopes
dreams

i have given up on

all lined up

taking turns

to give me

         a
terrible
                             itch.

Ever had an itch that won't scratch.
Its under your skin, in your blood stream or bone marrow.

That feeling walks down your skin.
Your brain fights back by slamming hand down trying to break the surface.

Your nails turn a dark screaming pink.

All you're  doing is clawing at a crimson red.


You're red handed because that itch wouldn't scratch.