Pug and Sharon become Impulsive

Old itch scratch, the sore almost healed, the thickening crust on the skin reddish and the pink beneath screaming: fingers tear at blisters, breaking old wounds, pain floods and it is still more scratch, old desires inflamed from having been kept away too long, safety is of no concern for the boring must give way to the fire, fire like the sun that cannot be tied down, rises up surely like the morning star. Brilliant, insidious, hot, in my soul.