It Grew On Me

It Grew On Me

It started on a winter’s day, I was not overjoyed
It itched me so, and made me go, insanely paranoid.
I thought it was a wee old lump, a bit of putrid mass
But when it began to move about, I admit I was aghast.
Itchiness, some burning too, it pained me when it moved
But then, in horror, I watched it make an ugly, filthy groove
Through the crack, I saw it crawl, a sticky foreign thing
That gnawed, and clawed into my back, while making little stings
On the fourteenth day, I had enough, I’d planned to cut it free
With cleaver and a bandage too, I lopped the cyst off me.
For months I had been mainly cured, of that terrible cankerous sore
But to my chagrin, and rotten luck, it grew on me once more.