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this was made out of desperate teenage innocence ending. during the awful habit of smoking, a penship form of self-destruction enough, my past self-abuse escalated to ashing my ciggarettes on myself, and then eventually the violent action of applying the heated metal of a ciggarette lighter to one's own flesh. for days i peeled the resulting scab off in one huge piece of sarcomata and washed it thoroughly with hydrogen peroxide, and if i'm drinking, vodka. and then i tried to create the illusion that the scar wasn't an act of willful self-degredation. i said that it was a critical ringworm that had left a nasty scar. i had to research this, because i first tried the excuse out on my veterinarian friend Leslie, who informed me that a ringworm isn't actually a worm. although the story of my Peruvian tour guide digging the nonexistent worm out of my body stemmed from a true experience, it was altogether false in this context. now i just live with it and dismiss as something i can't quite remember.
i had heard that it would look like a smiling face when it was done healing. far from it, it was an awful aberration of self-annihilation. and the scar remains.
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