I bite my finger nails, I gnaw till I bleed.
This compulsion is sporadic with no warning to heed
Just ancient headstones. With blood in the crevice.
Each jagged crimson peak like death on Nevis.
there’s something afoot, its borderline sadistic
defiant to the inevitable, their growth is persistent.
A slap in the face but a one that now cuts
Through the excuses, the ifs, ands or buts
They are driven by soul. their message rings true
That ‘nothing can stop me, not even you’