I know it's not real,
but I still feel it,
Crawling on my skin;
Psychosomatic.

I scrape off my skin,
I shower way too hot.
Still, the itch is there.
My brain begins to rot.

I can't fall asleep.
I'm too busy scratching,
The ants and fleas and spiders.
You say I'm faking.

I feel an itch on me,
So I look down and find,
There's only empty skin,
The itch was in my mind.

I know it's a compulsion,
That I cannot control,
I'll have to cut my nails,
So the feeling can't take hold.

I know that it's not real,
But still I feel it.
I'm peeling off my skin.
Psychosomatic.