Third Eye

Mount Vesuvius has taken root on my face. Threatening to erupt at any moment and envelope the villagers with hot, molten lava. They'll try to run, screaming in fear. From me. I've made babies cry and dogs tuck their tails in terror. I've been chased by villagers with fiery torches.

I have a zit. Of epic proportions. It's a flesh Volkswagen. A giant, throbbing, size of a kitten pimple next to my nose. The kind that springs forth without warning in a matter of milliseconds and is connected to every nerve in my head. I can't move a solitary muscle in my face without the painful reminder of the giant chancre taking over my skull.

The gravitational pull of the earth is yanking on my upper lip and I'm having trouble keeping my head upright. I'm fearful that I could distrupt the weather patterns of the Northern Hemisphere with this thing. I think it's another dimension, inhabited by microscopic aliens attempting to take over the world. Through my face.

What? Am I fucking 13? Have I not been through enough these last few days? Now this?

I'd stick around and regale you with provisional portrayals of the pink pustule on my puss, but I have an appointment to be fitted for a BURKA!