Itch

Johanna Eisel

 

It begins

As

Nothing.

 

A mere tickle

Across my skin.

 

Harmless,

Yet,

Deceit is its game.

 

To dominate.

To rule.

 

Red etches its way

Across my skin,

Soon to break.

 

Satisfaction almost orgasmic

Blurs the pain

I should be sensing.

 

Skin wavers

Intense heat

Rips open.

 

 

Volatile,

It erupts.

A new wound to patch.

 

My cabinet is a host .

Lotions,

Steroid Creams,

Antihistamines,

Neosporin and Band-Aids.

 

Home to all the things that soothe,

Momentarily.

 

As the tickle begins to start,

I tell myself no.

 

Sound and resolute.

This time,

 

I.

Will.

Not.

Itch.