Ouchie.
Does it hurt,
I ask myself,
While my hand,
Slaps my cheeks,
Why does it
Feel warm,
My mouth says,
As my hand,
Massages my cheek,
Ready for another
Attack.
Stop
Slapping yourself,
Stop
Slapping yourself,
They tell me,
Am I slapping myself,
Is this pain,
Am I a masochist,
Or is there really
A big goddamn bug
On my cheeks
That I'm working
To exterminate.
I won't know
If it's truly gone,
Long after it has,
But I'll know
If my face swells
That I'm
Infected
By the bite.
Ouchie.
You might win this one,
Bug
But don't count on it.
I intend to win,
Fucker.
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