One rotten tooth plus one grown wrong wisdom;
packed together in a mouth started jaw tension.
The back uncompromising to the front,
the front unequal to the sides,
ignited my soul to induce an inner cry.
A trip to the dentist would cease all pain but,
fear of the procedures only gained,
procrastination of myself in the hot seat.
A day I refuse to repeat,
mouth trouble continued to discreet,
the circumstance preventing my feet,
to walk to the dentist man holding the scalpel upon nitro heat.
Under control of the laughing gas,
eight needles the doctor shot in my jaw upper half,
the drool droppings,
the assistant ensuing suction,
all eyeballs on the ceiling started an insatiable concussion.
the anesthesia preventing my attitude from denying.
I’m now minus to teeth!