Splinter deep
The old year slipped into the new
While yesterday’s pain
is swept with a broom
Hard bristle scratch
My thoughts, my face
Dust choking
Acid soaking
The handle hands the hand a splinter
Through nail and skin
Deeper and deeper
Poisoning and malevolent
Burrowing and diving
Septicaemic
I can feel it
Arrow sharp
But not enough
To pierce my heart
So it turns on me
and burns in me
But spurs me
On.
My Words, My World 
Oh my. I do hope this is not autobiographical. This is not a desirable, spurring prompt… though well crafted.
It is a little Eric, but you can take encouragement from difficulty.