I know I’ll only make it bleed and scar,
But still I pick and scrape and scratch it raw.
I’ll keep on clawing ‘til I reach the bone.
So hard it is to leave an itch alone.
My fingers have become ten useless nubs.
Alas, those sorry digits did erode;
But such ill luck my progress scarcely slows
Because upon my feet are healthy toes.