Itch

This itch
Hurts,
Suffocates,
Bleeds.
This itch
I’ll scratch
Till I reveal
What’s hidden
Underneath.

All your
Excuses;
All your
Pretences,
I’ll scratch,
Scratch,
Scratch,
Till nought remains
Of your conjectures
And your lofty disdain.

What are you?
Only a scab
I want rid of.
A reminder of
A deleterious past;
A fetid pus
Born out of
Your petty jabs.

So I’ll scratch
And scratch,
Nevermind if it scars.
Getting rid of you
Will be
The best thing
To have happened
To me thus far.


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Copyright ©2018 Pradita Kapahi.

All rights reserved.

Image Credits: Pinterest

 

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