NAIL

This dusky crescent sits lone and proud on a wide plain of plastic. It waits, silently hoping for something better. A detached and disgusting fray of someone else, it waits. But it doesn't feel disgusting, it feels free, in its cream-coloured entirety it has been released into the world and this time without a chaperone. Up close this dreary moonbeam has fissures and 'lack-of-calcium' cracks. Its layers of low-grade ivory intertwined into a torpid, tapestry of emaciated cells and plasma.

The fingernail is always trying to escape its destiny, escape the finger, the chemistry and the body that built it. Even when its host is dead and rotting in the ground it continues to grow away from its station.

This edge of a tectonic plate that once slid across an ocean of blood and nerves is now...just a nail. And it waits, hoping it will be able to nestle in the delicate fibres of someone's cashmere jumper.