skin_tags raze she tells me they're just cosmetic. nothing's going to happen to me if i keep them. but i think they're more than that. i think every time you fall apart your body makes a record of it somewhere you can see. and so clusters of collagen and blood vessels trap themselves inside thicker skin, and they hang off of you like small dead things. because that's what they are. they're everyone you've lost and everything you won't ever be again, made into soft jewelry that won't be torn loose. i just want them gone. she doesn't tell me what she's going to do. she aims something at my neck that looks like a pen. i feel the needlepoint of light lacerate what i don't want to see anymore. i can smell my body burn. she keeps finding more. she burns parts of me i didn't even know were there. when she's finished, she lets me see what she's done in a handheld mirror. raised red bumps cover my flesh. i look like i've been eaten by mosquitos. "that's normal," she says. "the skin is insulted. it'll take a few weeks, but those bumps will crust over and fall off. there'll be some itching. you should stay out of the sun for a while." my face looks wrong set against the mess of my neck. "can you do more?" i ask. "what do you mean?" "all of it. burn it all away." "are you sure?" i'm sure. she nods. she douses me in distilled petroleum and hands me a match. "this is the part you do alone," she says. she leaves the room. i breathe in. i am heavy oil moving through a pipeline. i am high-octane gas. i am every mistake i've ever visited upon myself, purified and made holy. i strike the match against my teeth and let it fall. 211017 what's it to you? who go blather from