I fear that that the plague under the skin,

first suffered as I entered the twilight of being considered

young, has returned as the itch of skin flares

and erupts like the seeded grumblings of Vesuvius

as her townsfolk gathered in blissful ignorance.

I am exhausted, yet words continue to flow

and they mock the carrier, taunting that somewhere

under the surface, next to the silvery fish like scales

that threaten to burst

and pulse and spread across my body once more,

causing anger and confusion as the pain in my back