My Habit

As tock must surely follow tick,
Relentlessly all day I pick,
My cuticles down to the quick,
Till sheer revulsion makes me sick.

Compulsively I must obey
The need to do it every day,
Until I’ve chewed my nails away,
And all the skin around them flay.

How many times I’ve begged for peace,
But only felt the need increase?
With hands hard clasped I’ve tried to cease,
But never do I find release,
Nor yet my fingers find surcease.

I soaked my hands in ‘Stop’n’Gro’,
But could I let the habit go?
You hardly need to ask to know,
What answer could there be but “no”?

So though I am by nature vain,
And wince at other folks disdain,
I can do little to retrain,
Behavior hard-wired in my brain,
A habit I cannot restrain.

I find a certain comfort there,
So as my fingertips I tear,
I sing in an embittered vein,
Concluding I must like the pain.

‘Nibbling at your nails is fun,
It gives you individual fingers,
Problems seem to come undone,
And afterwards,
The flavor lingers.’