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.