Leaving Off On A Bad Note

When you go to bed with poison in your mouth
You wake up with rotted teeth.
The stench of decay infests
the new
day and throbs through aching
Worn holes. Cavats broken through
the enamel of your mind
exposing the soft, bruseable little pulp,
the quivering thread.
whats left of it.
Soured by acid and weakened by weak excuses
the truth is frankly, you’re done.
There is no canal strong enough to bond the roots of a scorched tongue
Words that bite like liquor at the back of your throat
sit tight behind sleeping lips
because brushing this situation away required far more than ordinary profalaxis
No, your cheeks like wax are chewed
and ground through, stress,
is over.
You swallow two parts poison and one part passion
and howel goodnight into the pillowcase.
But when you go to bed
with the residue of vile
in your mouth, again
You wake up with rotted teeth
That need to be pulled out.

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