I have an itch.

It aggrivates me with its stench,

Infuriates my every sense.

But it matters not,

Its just an itch.

But now look at it!

I have a rash,

I rub at its mask,

And Violently it sends an attack,

It has grown, yes it has,

And blushes my skin for all to see,

But what is it to me?

Tis just a rash, Tis no worry.

Alas, though, I have spurred a small wound!

It started as an itch then even the rash was consumed!

Its grown and grown and now my whole being pursues,

It with an endless furry for all my pride is left strewn!

It hurts and it vexes,

It curses and it hexes,

Nonpulsed I roll sixes,

And with a smile, lay back (actually effected).

But alas it is small,

and I ignore its fitting fall,

For what is a wound?

Why Tis nothing at all!

But then time has passed.

And I am left a sore scar,

I frown at it sorely,

But if makes no remark.

For my itch has chose another,

And has left to pursue,

While I am left here,

Scarred and confused.