I stood under the long cold cylindrical dirty sterile light of my mom's filthy kitchen. Mom leaned in close to examine my face like a human telescope adjusting her field of vision. My little sister craned her long little neck from behind her like a meerkat searching the horizon for predators. Mom said 'your skin has definitely improved...There's only a few pimples here and there' pointing here and there with her leathery evil finger like my face was a geography map. Sister interrupted her and said 'yehh, its mostly just...red'. Play me out Rolling Stones, Paint It, Black!
Have a lot of hyper-pigmentation from acne. It isn't really too visible under gentle light, only those fluorescent lights make my face light up real horror show. Also High-Definition camera-recorders are evil. Looking at myself in the small LCD screen I think that this is how Dorian Gray must have felt looking at his portrait that he kept hidden, because it was too awful to look at, revealing all of his imperfections and flaws that never harmed him but instead were inflicted on his portrait.
The faint fading red marks are more than bearable though, and keeping my head up because after all the red marks are a reminder of a time a lot more painful.