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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.

Lenore 28-Aug-02/6:45 AM
I concur, and yet on this very day I will subject myself to the CHAIR. With any luck at all, I'll be able to write an Ode to Vicadin upon my return.




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