You’ve just caught it.
The itch that just won’t go away.
You scratch it.
It feels good.
Temporarily, ephemerally, but unmistakably good.
You scratch it; over and over and over again.
Until you bleed and it hurts;
Until you bleed and you hurt.
Yet you continue scratching;
It hurts, but it still felt good.
It’s strange, and you’re confused;
You know it’d be bad if you kept scratching.
Yet you continued scratching anyway.
There’s no mistaking it this time.
One scratch too far; It really hurts.
It might have felt good some time ago, but all it is now is pain.
You stop scratching immediately.
You get up, look for medication and slowly tend to that wound.
Slowly, but surely, it mends.
It mends, and it hurts less.
It hurts less, and it hurts less.
Eventually, you feel much better.
Until it no longer hurts.
You remove those bandages only to be greeted by scars,
Tangible reminders that stick with you,
As you move your fingers to touch it,
A familiar sensation shoots up your spine.
Like an old friend,
You recognised it immediately.
A new itch.