Sitting here, working, I begin to notice it. There's the slight pinching feeling as I bend my neck to the right. There's something there, something raw, something sensitive, something that shouldn't be there. There's a bump on my neck, a raised little sore spot. Ah, yes, I know what you are. I've felt you before. Even though I've defeated you before, you've come back.
You're persistent, you big red neck pimple.
All day you bother me, deliver me that little subtle, dull pain when I move my neck a certain way. You know I can't get to you. Even if I try in a mirror to squeeze the life out of you, you're back far enough to where I cannot see you.
I can only feel you.
I will get you, oh yes I will get you. One way or another. Sure, you can torture me now while I'm at work, where I lack the tools and help I need to vanquish you, but wait until I get home. Yes, that's right, the one person you most fear will assist me: my second pair of eyes, my pimple-smiter.
I can feel you shaking now.
There, how do you like it now? Sure, it hurts; the sharp, spidering pain feels like somebody is trying to rip a chunk of my neck out, but I will endure it to be rid of you. Oh y---- what's this? You will not pop? You will not rear your ugly head? All this painful squeezing is for naught? Fine. I'll get a needle. Yes, a needle will smite you.
Oh, damn, you are a tough one. All right, I gain a little respect for you. You will not be lanced. Three stabs and all you have given up is some oil and blood. You laughed in face of certain death. You mock me, hurt even worse now. You are inflamed, but still you persist. You will be there tomorrow.
Yes, you are still there. You are a little smaller, but you still torture me. The dull pain is still there when I move my neck. When I touch you, you sting me. But you will go down, I promise you. It is only a matter of time.
I will pop you. Oh yes, I will pop you.