The Itch

I had to scratch my itch again

It’s like I have just got hands

and know where to go

to get that feeling

that isn’t sexual but isn’t entirely neutral

nor mechanical, nor subliminal

It’s my itchy fingers on a keyboard

words on the screen, maybe the big, big screen

One day…

Until then I will dream and scratch my itch

nightly, daily, whenever it may seem

And get closer to my glory

wherever that may be

another publishing or a deal or three

until then I will scratch my itch , again.

I scratch my itch to get at what lurks outside the back doors

trying to get back in by wearing a smile.

My itch is the innocent that walked the extra mile

that did not give up when it got lonely

who did not react to girls all homely

But one who started straight ahead staring out judge Dredd

and all those lame heroes

who never had a mother.

I am itching, So I scratch, I am itching So I scratch.

I want It so bad…

I deserve it So much…

Give me your best and I will match it…

you know…I am so much scratch made itch I am bleeding poor

There’s a (The nineties) wolf at the door

But its 2017 Bro, No place to hide , nowhere to go.

You know, so I scratch my itch once more

until you’re knocking at my door.

KNOCKING AT MY DOOR.

 

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