of both arms
is a painful whitehead
begging to be bashed open.
the mirror only
reminds me
and my thumbs
that it is beyond the satisfaction.
there is not much better
than popping a pimple
that has been needing
to be erased in a mess.
I could be anywhere,
but that feeling takes me back
and it would be so great
if I could get the sucker.
but I can't
and it sucks,
because I feel it on my chair
and it will be there for however long.
life's little pleasures
like this
even escape me,
taunting from tattoos.