When we get a mosquito bite,
We are told not to scratch it,
Yet with a little temptation
We find eradication
From that itch,
A bittersweet bitch.
Soon that little pest
Of an itch makes a nest.
Your body is soon consumed
Cover in bites, you made a new wound.
The only way to relieve your pain
is the very thing that makes you relive your pain.
Stuck in a cycle,
You can no longer blame the mosquito.
All it did was plant the seed,
Yet you nourished it. Thinking you could
Over water it. A passive-aggressive act.
Forgetting that water is the very thing
That allows the seed to thrive.
Even though you know this,
You have grown into a habit.
When there is an itch, you scratch.
Drip-Drip. Like water to a plant.
You just grew your own poison ivy.
A foster-parent to the festered itch.
If only we chose not to feed what only grows more hungry; never full until it consumes us.