Itch Chiara Evans Poetry
Sometimes there’s a slight itch And I have the compulsion to scratch But I remember it’s tender there, I remember How it got there I know more eyes than mine have seen it And people have probably noted it But I choose to ignore the itch most days I wish it weren’t there Sometimes I feel It gets tighter Almost suffocating, blinding All my thoughts turn to the feeling Of skin and flesh rippling open and Bones shattering under the surface Sometimes Sometimes I keep it hidden Hiding it in hopes others won’t see it It’s a constant reminder Of the battle raging on Sword versus sword Steel reverberating against steel
Volume IX
115
