like a toothache


sleeping is better
i am a loaf of warm bread.
i am not made of ashes.

i am clutched around my pillow in a cocoon of blankets
whispering me away in sweet denials of 
the mornings that I’ll get up and be 
too warm,
too cold,
too dirty…
and always confused about it.

i am stuck in a slow smile
on sweetest pause
miles back in time
when everything was secret laughs
and soft silences.

words were honey once
but then rot the mouth, the mind…
you long for wholesome substance
– as you clutch cheek-throb in the night
– as eyeballs turn to blood solids

and as you walk through an 
anonymous city,
your head glows a pain-signal 
into space.

tomorrow is all cold tile,
the mocking hospital gown.
Dental spotlights, 
inadequate anesthesia…

and one false tear
will only pop the stitches
and expose the sick, slow bleed.


like a toothache

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