Sometimes, an itch
is all it takes to know
if I'm still alive.

My feet lay numb,
from never moving.
But my hands, they itch.
And when they do, I write.

Poetry isn't my strength,
where its inexistence
would render me weak.
Nor is it my future,
whose lack makes it bleak.
Poetry's what inspires
me to stay stronger.
And when you read it,
you inspire poetry
to last a bit longer.

I write to leave you thinking.
But more than that, I write
to keep me from sinking.

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You were like a bad bra
Didn't support me enough
Itched in placed
And left marks on my body

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When you scratch your itch more than it is needed to, it turns to a wound.


When you entertain your thought more than it is required to, it becomes a headache.

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Till I myself went through the itch
never knew what is.. it !

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It always itches when it heals.

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Please can you scratch
my balls..., Neo?

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Your existence was like chicken pox.
Itchy and annoying.

Thankfully, it ain't coming again.

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What argument do you have against INTELLIGENT DESIGN?

Me : If it was intelligent, it should be easier to scratch that itch where it is difficult to reach.

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You cut for the first time
Because you want to feel the pain.
And then you do it again and again
You get intimidated by the blood
And scars and all that itch that happens.

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In the horizon, you see
The clouds itching the sun's back
And your pain unbounds
And reaches a divine sublimity
And the sky seems to be itching off the rain
And the birds their feathers
You see itching, itching everywhere
Even the words of the boss,
Seem to itch through your scalp
And your ears

But then suddenly,
Out of blue and yellow,
A calmness dawns
The devils reach their doom
And your face comforted
And the skies seem not to itch anymore

(Read in caption)

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