Hanging On

You hang onto the flesh around my nail, and

Dig yourself between everything

I feel. 

You start beneath the surface of my skin, 

Until you decisively divide and jaggedly expose yourself

When I motion my hand towards someone new

As to respectively say, “Hello.”

There you thrive on my ring finger irritably and

Hang

Onto me as a hiker hangs onto his gear, a host

Dependent for survival. 

One day, I will try to pull you away, 

I too, need something to hang onto

To feel alive.

I know, when the day comes, 

I will bleed for you, and

Maybe, because of you,

I will know those stains that burrow

Underneath my nail— 

I know those stains

Will redden my envy when you 

Unquestionably attach yourself to the manicured nails of someone new.