Psychosomatic Itch Poem by Justin Houseman

Neurons flicker like fireflies for
the lithium lickers downstairs, but
I don't know if that's quite right.
Gold dust liquor triggers
my allergies and tickles my throat like
dander and feathers, but the Heathers
still have their moat-and I get no gander.
I cast out my fishing pole lines,
Hook and sinker stuck in the thinker.
Not a bite to be gotten, not a fish in sight.
Just sticks and stones like water
under the bridge with bones in the
concrete blocks. But we've all seen how the
knoll takes a toll on the brain, and there's
a lot more sense in trying, so much more
left to gain instead of dying.