Sometimes it seems
To me
All my achievements in life
Lead to overproduction of skin cells
And to itching and scratching
And
For all the purple corridors and rooms I’ve traversed
I’m always
Once again
Subservient to those little microbial organisms
On my skin
Without which I would not be me and
Which laugh as I kill,
Kill,
As a necessary sustenance for the universe
After the storm subsides.