It is a flare of social fire that riots across the otherwise dull expanse of my recent weekends, bringing with it highs, lows and intruding side effects.
Late nights and early mornings leave their evidence in the crop of Vesuvian abscess breaching the surface of my epidermis. Face, shoulders arms and back; no expanse of soft skin is impervious to these horrendous little devils.
Taunting me to touch them and squeeze them, to bring forth the torrent of ghastly white pus, and supplant them with the gaping maw of red and sore cavities, condemned to leak the bloody saliva of my lymph system until nature has them sealed.
What is the purpose of this vile bodily reaction? It is beyond my cognition.
Vesuvius for Bubinda