Mouthwash

Mouthwash

Drip.

Strong of mint,

fluid as water.

It burns my throat,

burns my gums,

burns my tongue,

cleanses my teeth

My mouth is freed from the plague of bacteria.

It is routine.

But it is better,

better than the sharp yet still dulled ache,

of teeth being pulled.

Better than the metallic,

blood-like,

taste of silver metal.

Better than the heart-pumping terror,

the lip-trembling fear,

of seeing the point of a needle,

going towards my mouth.

I spit the blue spray out into the sink.

Some of it clings to my lips,

it forms small droplets.

Drip,

Drip,

Drip.

It falls from my lips before I can grab a rag.