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Toothache Jun 7
Spit out the blood
Sniff your snot dry
Wash yourself in the greywater behind the jungle gym
Try not to cry

Silent son hycinthus
Lays on the cold bedroom floor
Staring at his arms
Red and raw

His sides are bruised and ugly,
Shades of blue purple and yellow,
He asks his mom for blueberry custard
She says no.
Toothache Jun 6
Cut cigars
Cut the grass
Bronze gears
Glass display

Leather belt
Gas mask
Atomic bomb
Pass out

Space Travel
Radio antenna
No watch
Bad high
No seatbelt
Never cry

Tin can
Oil lamp

Static TV
Mach one

Brace for impact
Birthday clown
Pocket watch
Freudian dreams
Toothache May 8
Smokey light like old brown film gathers like dust in a stagnant room
It holds you like company
It may make you choke
But this is a comfortable suffocation

walls floor bottom top
all surround like a crib holding you in soft sleep and full stomach
Empty space evokes an ancient fear
The endless horizon could never be full but this room can almost be

Sometimes there’s a bit of a draft
I can’t tell you where it comes from
But dunes of feathers and silky sheets should surround you
They’ll drown you in sleep

The windows are covered in newspaper
There’s a towel at the bottom of the door
Every crack in the wall has been sealed so no horrors can creep through
Wrap yourself in the layers and forget about where that draft is coming from

An old woman used to sing about the angels that watch over you when you sleep
Even though you didn’t believe her
But she’s long gone
And you’ve never been able to remember how the song went
There is something always missing no matter how full you try and make things
Maybe it’s her
Maybe that’s life

The ceilings are white and expressionless
There are no images hidden within
A still calm expression, perhaps a kind stoicism
They sit with you quietly, the dim lights humming like an old woman from above
Drift off to the song
It’s not real company
But it’ll do if you can’t sleep alone
Toothache Dec 2021
market market enterprise
lies lies advertise
fixate on the image until it’s just right
project it until the product sells
paint over and ignore
the layer of grime that coats my insides
the black stains on my lungs
the bile in my throat, the dirt in my heart
i am a stranger to my body and it is a corpse to me
you could cut through my flesh like a delicate confection
i'd beg you do
perhaps the pain will remind my skin it's alive
perhaps you could enjoy this torn limp form
god knows i couldn't
at least it looks good in the window
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