It starts with a bite. A tiny bite of tiny bug, You???d hardly notice it. Then starts the itch. Irritating But tolerable. No need for the medicine yet, Just an itch. But just the same It needs relief. So you scratch. Fingernails scraping the tiny bump And it swells And the flesh turns red And the skin wears thin. It breaks, Raw. Oozing pus and blood. Take no heed Let it be. No need for medicine yet, It???s just a tiny wound. Flies hover over it, Attracted by the aroma Of body fluid Escaping from that raw hole. It doesn???t even hurt much. Just an annoying sensation of pain Every once in a while. No biggie. The pus attracts The dirt in the air And the filth of the flies. It holds them close to the open wound, Nurturing them in the warm flesh Like a womb. You hardly notice The infection starting. Just an occassional itch An occassional twinge of pain. And thus the infections does commence. Now it???s not just an itch, Or an occassional twinge of pain. Now you don???t dare Lay eyes on the wound. You already know the ugly truth you???ll find No, please. No medicine, you say. It might hurt. It will hurt. You know alcohol will cleanse the filth And start to mend the ripped flesh. But no way! It???s too painful. And you???re sure it won???t get worse. Perhaps it will heal on it???s own. So you wait. And the wound festers. Gangrene is starting And soon it will poison your blood. The wound is now A gaping raw hole Deeply set in your flesh. Rotting and filthy. Hurry! The cleansing may be painful, But something must be done. The medicine will make it better, Maybe. A choice, just one: suffer the bite of medication or the removal of the limb that is its host. Quickly now, Before death consumes you It poisons your blood.