The itch that won't quit

That scab’s a tiny landmine, rough and raised,

red like a burn that won’t quite fade.

I scratch beneath the bathroom light,

where flaky skin cracks under my fight.

It mocks me with its dull insistence,

a pulse, a prick, a nagging resistance.

The rough patch, a stubborn guest,

settled in flesh that won’t rest.

It itches in the quiet hours,

a secret drum beneath the showers.

Healing’s cruel joke, a skin that cheats,

marked by the itch that won’t quit.