The massive zit on my cheek hurts so bad.
I dream of squeezing it and relieving myself of this wretched, cruel echo of my younger years.
I fantasize about taking a small pin and shoving it through the center of the follicle, releasing the pent up pestilence.
My fingers graze the protruding bump, second guessing my preserving discipline.
I know that any entanglement with the offensive blemish will leave behind an even less attractive mark.
My, adulthood blesses us with some wicked trinkets of youth.