BP: Acne

This poem is just shameful. And to think, when I started I thought this was a fantastic idea. Then I realized it’s kind of gross. Here it is:

There is an army
waging war on my nose.
They lay landmines and flee,
littering black machines,
entrenched in oil. My
defences are weakening,
the strength of soap, doubted.
But my secret weapon,
the pressure of nail, forces
evacuations & retreats
to the POW camps of
tissue and garbage can.