A scratch upon the tender skin,
A line where calm once reigned within.
The surface breaks with subtle force,
A trail of pain, a shifting course.
Where itching gnaws and fingers stray,
Innocence of touch gives way.
The fragile shield, the skin’s defense,
Becomes a canvas torn, immense.
Eczema flares in fiery heat,
Psoriasis with a rhythmic beat.
Insect bites that tempt the hand,
Leave excoriations’ reprimand.
Yet some arise from deeper scars,
A mind that battles hidden wars.
Dermatillomania’s cruel grip,
A silent urge, a fingertip.
The epidermis, scraped and raw,
Reveals the wounds we often saw.
Bleeding lines or tiny dots,
Reminders of the battles fought.
Infections wait with open doors,
As broken skin invites their spores.
What once was smooth, now marred, inflamed,
Excoriation leaves its claim.
Though healing comes with time and care,
The marks will linger, waiting there.
A fleeting pain, a deeper cry,
Excoriation’s lullaby.
