The stinging pain from sharp eyes, the chill from cold words, the weakness of frustration and inability to change the status quo, the fairness brought by a mediocre family background, goodbye The emptiness and coldness of lover, all this transpiration gives us a deep itching that penetrates our bones, like a ten thousand footed insect passing over our back, perhaps with a slightly cool and secret tingling sensation at first, boiling a frog in warm water, tapping directly into the blood vessels, flowing freely and freely through our bones, muscles, and organs, tearing the skin, burning and aching, as indescribable as hemorrhoids and syphilis. I smiled knowingly, it was just because of the wind and cold, the cold air was overwhelming, and the waterfall suddenly turned into a glacier.
Who will scratch this itch for us? It will itch so hard that it will pierce the skin and bloom bright red, so that we can enjoy it like thousands of beauties beside us, and immortals in the aphrodisiac bushes.
Is this the only way to scratch an itch?
Who can scratch our itch?
Maybe it's so itchy that you can't wait, it's so itchy that you're eager to try, it's so itchy that you're terminally ill, it's so itchy.
So itchy.