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Replying to a comment on:
To Brush, or Not to Brush, That is the Question! (Free verse) by Lenore
My pain is in the dark,
I cannot see its rot,
Yet know it festers
Around each tender nerve.
My lips they try to hide---
An unclean hole inside,
Yet Winter's wind has found it
It's root so quick to flick.
I have resigned the tool
For blood it makes me drool,
Not want or need to lick.
So viscious a circle carries on
As if it were my foe,
Is dental care an affliction now?
My teeth they ought to know.
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