it comes. . . it goes,
sometimes it's just as funky
as the jam betwixt our toes;
it spreads. . . it stinks,
invades our common senses
to where we no longer think;
it flakes. . .it cracks,
breeds microscopic anguish
that we often welcome back;
it crusts. . . it seethes
casts impetigo etchings
that we scratch until ONE bleeds.
© 2006 cynth'ya lewis reed
all rights reserv'd
WCU Graduate counseling student murders his wife in abuse shelter.
http://articles.news.aol.com/news/_a/man-shoots-wife-at-abuse-shelterpolice/20060922114609990007?_ccc=5&cid=842
Ron
if it feel good scratch it
I presently have an itch
on my operation scar
which is healing well
But I dare not scratch
From fear of infection.
Ain't itch a bitch
Love & Peace
William
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)
Cynth'ya...you are so wise.
Elizabeth
Again, delightful poem.
Hugs & respect,
CJ
love Tinka
Regis