manicured nails tip tap
along my head, slowly
but surely,
removing every hair from its follacle
until my brain is exposed.

these same fingers used to clutch
weapons of destruction against
my arms and thighs and stomach.
pain is familiar and frequent.

though i've found joy in these fingertips, too,
they know me better than anything else.
pleasure like waterfalls have flown
from their touch.
they've created magic, art, love.

but they turn on me. glistening in the sun
those nails will build me a home
and tear it down, ruining that manicure,
trembling, gently wiping away those tears.