Cavities

Love is sweet. 
I never cared much for the dentist, but I have, in great length, toiled
and cried over the pulling of teeth. My sweet, tooth degraded into nothing.
A fragment of bone. 
Life has made me the dentist, keen to fix and turned on by the pain of others.
Sweetness is not long-lasting, as in the way there is no longevity of bone, save its calcification. 
The sweet will break it; by my thorough research I have proven such. 

I am no academic. 
I never cared much to study, but I have, many times, in great length, poured
graciously from my heart for love of another. My sweet, my mouth kissed, and sweetness torn through it.
Fragments in my bone. 
Love has made me the tooth, needing to be fixed and unable to hide from my own pain. 
Sweetness is not long-lasting, but neither am I. 
The sweet will break me, has broken me; by my life I have proven such. 

You may have tried. 
You may very well have tried, but I am not sure that I will ever know. 
Words which you once spoke so gleefully and childlike, I now pull from you like rotted, methamphetamine-smoked teeth. You have soured some thing beautiful, your venom leeched through my papery, wilted skin and hollow bones like ink bled through a page. 

I was already dead. 
I was a corpse reanimated for your pleasure, you Frankenstein!, only to be chained up and forgotten like a woman sold for her cavities. 
And to think that I still long for the feeble life you bring me, your expired heroin in my melancholic veins. My heart does not stutter, its shutters still open wide to your piercing gaze and gauzy voice. With those sweets, instruments of torture, you inflate my lungs and deflate them still with your purposeful absence, your timing brilliant. The great, lauded drummer with no soul. Your mallets rain ceaselessly upon the last faint spark in my heart, the last flicker of life, which I have guarded from you so delicately. 

My tooth fucking hurts.