not a metaphor

When I first got these bites I didn't really want to scratch them all that bad. They started to itch a bit after a couple months. Eventually I scratched them out of curiosity. Well, it was more than curiosity, they were beckoning me. They receded almost immediately as they will do. I forgot about the itch, the sensation of friction err scratching, even looking at the absence of a bite I started to long for them. Some other mysterious insect chomped on my dermis. I was covered head to toe in wounds. Even from the first scratch, I knew I wasn't supposed to be scratching. I didn't care though, scratching sent me into a frenzied euphoria. I was hit in the head with a frying pan, thrown off a moving bus, kicked in the scrotum, and so on and so forth. I really didn't care, the scratching was worth it to me. Now I sit here fucking dying to scratch the shit out of these things, but I think it's time to grab the calamine.