If you are to read this poem, know this.

The words I’m about to write are intended to slay your bliss.

I hope you’re sitting uncomfortably.

I hope you can’t reach that itch.

Your skin is beginning to prickle, whilst you’re reading this.

Your scalp is screaming “dig your nails into me?”

Picture images of lice, mice, and fleas.

In the corner of your eye, just out of reach, in the contours of your room, hides a beast.

It watches you at night, while your tucked up and asleep.

It runs its fingers down your spine and listens as you breathe.

You’re now aware of every sense of which you possess.

This poem is intended to indeed cause you stress.

Don’t blame me for these uncomfortable words.

I did not come up with this prompt.

But a challenge I must meet, and if it’s uncanny that you seek I hope that you find it here.

What’s that crawling within your ear?

Can you feel its legs inside the drum?

Scuttling, scurrying, rum-tum-tum.

Illusions can be cruel, they can make you feel things that aren’t there.

Remember again the itch within your hair.

Your tired eye is beginning to twitch, you must give in, itch itch itch.

Your nose is tingling, are you needing to sneeze. Itch that nose as if you have fleas.

Your skin is infested, bugs under your skin.

Itch your wrist, rub your eyes, scratch under your chin.

I’m sorry for these words, for these uncomfortable sensations, but if it brings you some solace I would just like to mention; I myself am experiencing these nasty interactions to my own twisted words I am giving a reaction.

I am just as uncomfortable perhaps more so than you, let’s say take comfort in the knowledge it’s just a mind’s trick or two.