my bad habits do not heal.

they disappear for a moment,
stepping out of a room as if
to take a call that they're certain is bad news,
and they reappear,
wearing a different suit.
brighter.
worse.

i bit my nails,
i found peace and stopped.
then, two months later,
i found myself eating paint.
the kind for nails.

clearly they are linked,
one i wear on my fingers
the other i wear in my teeth.

one is in a tan suit.
the other threatens to burn the tan suit,
and dyes it green instead.
ghastly green, the kind he knows i don't like.

my bad habits do not heal, as much as i wish they would.
they take the call in the hallway, and they cry,
but they do not tell me they cried,
because i assume they don't think i know,
and they re-enter
and sit in the corner,
take a drink,
and they start again.