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…