Artificialed Beauty

I remember the day that I wanted to go see you but only went to go clip you like broken fingernails that ended with painful hang nails; I somehow ended up fixing me while you or the memory of you began to die off being further disconnected from me than you were before. I guess you were like a press on nail to me, something cute and artificial that I can use to cover up what I already had. But now what I had is what I'm left with. Fungus ridden fingernails, clipped from me biting them in distress.