You're nothing
but a ***** flea to me -
Biting my ankles,
And gnawing at my feet
You refuse my pleas to cease
They itch -
Oh so uncomfortably
I scratch until they bleed
The bites are gone now,
But my skin -
Uneven, blotched in tone -
Bear scars of memories
Long since past
And so I cover them fast
Lest I dwell on the contrast
They make my tattoos
Look a little ugly sometimes
Maybe I'll just cover them
With more art -
Turn something stark
Into something lark
How about all bite,
AND all bark?
A pest that left, but not before leaving its mark.
Flea bites fade, sure—but some things itch long after they’re gone.
At least I can cover them with something prettier than him. 🩸🐜 🐜 🐜
