Biting nails down to the quick,

the slow reveal of blood that hunts

down the clear skin and slowly

congeals and revels

in the sting of pain, sharp

and enticing, finger sucked

but the will

to place it in salt, the desire to increase

the medicine and the healing

overwhelming.

 

Too old to bite my nails

but it gives the nerves

something to chew on, to

let the rage and unquestionable tension

gorge itself and release the strain,

the simplest of self harm

but one that seems to upset

so many

to whom stress sees them

punch out and leave bruises

which cannot be cured

by salt.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016