Itches

I scratched an itch last night

And a piece of me fell off. 

A chunk of flesh and blood

That my body had rejected. 

So I pushed my fingers into

That open red chasm. 

But no matter how I tried

I couldn’t find the pain. 

So I ripped and I tore myself

Pulling pieces out from in. 

Searching frantically through gore

For the spark I thought I had.

But instead all I accomplished

Was shredding what was left.

So when I woke up this morning

It was to my own mess.