At first, a tender swelling forms beneath the skin,
As though unseen forces wrestle deep within,
And then, it grows—yet again—pressing through,
While pain roots itself, dark and true.
As time creeps by, nodules rupture and drain,
So then, comes discomfort, a tunnel of pain.
Moreover, scars etch memories in flesh,
Therefore, life and skin become enmeshed.
Thus, genetics, they say, hold part of the key,
Yet so does the immune system’s fierce decree.
Additionally, hormones play their own part,
However, no single force can claim the start.
Consequently, some bear a family mark,
Meanwhile, lifestyle choices may ignite the spark.
And so, skin folds—where warmth and friction meet—
Turn into realms where pain may entreat.
It begins with a single boil in apocrine sweat gland,
But eventually, the scars build and coil.
Then, paths connect beneath the bruised expanse,
Whereby stage by stage, the sickness advances.
Nevertheless, there’s hope to stave the fire—
Although no cure will grant what all desire.
Yet, with each treatment that science provides,
Hope lingers on, and thus, resilience abides.
Finally, though the scars remain to remind,
Meanwhile, healing moments one may yet find.
And so, the journey, painful as it may be,
Is met with strength, though cloaked invisibly.
