Your suggestions,
your presence,
like an itch,
deep
in the center of my spine.
To get at it I'd have to
turn completely
around,
in doing so,
maybe go back a little
the way I came...
but I don't want to.
Recession doesn't seem to be
an option
anymore,
but the pulling,
oh it never stops.
You always seem to know
just when to come
scraping,
constantly trying to
root out
whatever it is you can't
find on your own.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...