Shellac attack.

Stop, she said.
But her brain refused to listen. Her subconscious
floated elsewhere, rebellious, like her teeth.

Stop – she warned.
But her fingertips still brushed them. Her lips
ever-beckoned, like little pillows of disease.

Stop! she yelled,
out loud in her own mind. Scolding, disgusted
with her inability to obey.

So she sat there,
biting her nails anyway.