Skin is starting to forgive me. Fucker always breaks out when I quit. Expulsion of toxins through my pores I suppose. Haven't shaved since I quit trying to alleviate any additional dermal scathing. Cheeks enjoy being scruffy. Must say gives my fingers something to do also, running the tips through my wispy facial hair. Soft it is.

Daily check, up close in the mirror of the state of things in the face. Degrees of bloodshot ruddiness in eyes go up and down. Steady march of ginger curlies growing on grill. Swarmy patches of bumps lessen. Focus in on the nose.

Back in the hell of puberty, acne was my nemesis. Many of the devil red gremlins partied on my nose. Lots of activity for the most heinous of pimple criminals centered on my sniffer. Only place I have pock marks. Yummy deliciousness I know. Feh, I'm of the weathered looking types anyway, kind of blends in. One in particular is more noticeable.

I remember how deep the core of that bad boy was. Took some effort to blast the fucker open. Sweet gushing relief when it did. Similar to the feeling I had when my ears popped in an elevator going up, and plasma and blood ran out. Life juice escaping. Felt good it did.

So now it is the largest skin crater on my face. Saying hello to me in the morning, or um, afternoon when I wake up. Mornings suck and are designed for pock marks. Good old pock mark.

Thinking of younger memories. I used to be able to wrangle butterflies. Would stand out on my front lawn arms extended, clear my mind and eyes, and butterflies would land on me and chill. Flexing their paper wings. Tickling my arm hairs with their prickly legs and proboscis. Best was I would turn my palms upward and they would migrate to that, dancing along my fignerprints. Move my face towards the sky and they would perch on my glasses. Was missing the flocks of butterflies that would swoop in when the climate got warm in my former Midwest home.

Course the mosquitos loved my flesh back then too. And my phobia for all bee and wasp like critters was often harassed with a buzzing buddy following my every move. Ugh fucking bees. Part of the reason I should never drive again. I would cause a multi car pile up if one of those yellow banded stinging fuckers got trapped in my car on the highway.

I happened upon a hornet nest when I was a lad, fetching a football that rolled into our tool shed in the backyard. Bastards swarmed on my ear, couple dozen stings into my cartelidge. Why the fuck they all decided to gang up on my left ear I'll never know, but once the stinger bell was rung they all chimed in and fucked my head up. Pain so bad I had ringing in my head for a week. So yeah, all those critters with sharp pointy objects in their ass can step off.

Matter of fact I'll blame the fuckers for my acne woes as a teenager. And for the faltering economy. And for the vast numbers of stupid people in the world. Fucking bees. I crush you.