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An itch arises, a feeling so true.
A gentle tingle, then a steady burn,
A scratch is needed, it's now my turn.
But oh, the place, not quite the best,
To ease this itch, to find some rest.
In public spaces, among the crowd,
Discretion's key, no scratch allowed.
Yet the urge grows, it won't subside,
A battle within, can’t let it slide.
A subtle shift, a quiet squirm,
To calm this itch, to kill this worm.
But relief, when it finally comes,
Is like a symphony of soothing drums.
A little scratch, and all's at peace,
The itch subsides, sweet, sweet release.