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Twenty-seven spots

At first there were three
then four…
then seven…
then eleven…
(including my innernose pore)
and finally twenty-seven…
twenty-seven spots!

My life is officially OVER!

No concealer will
cover these
red, bulging
white pus oozing,
purple peaking
mass of
twenty-seven spots.

My life is officially OVER!

Savlon was hopeless,
toothpaste the same.
Plasters pathetic,
listerine in vain.
Nothing could combat
these indestructible
twenty-seven spots.

My life is officially OVER!

These are no
spotty spots.
These are a
Kilimanjaro-sized,
Himalayan-ranged army
of invincible
twenty-seven spots.

My life is officially OVER!

I can’t leave the house.
I can’t go to school.
I can’t ever, ever, ever
be seen in public
EVER again!
Out damn
twenty-seven spots.

My life is officially OVER!

A leopard has less
a cheetah even fewer
than my crop of
twenty-seven…
twenty-four…
twenty-one…
twenty-… what spots?

My life is officially ON!

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