Dripping

Giggling water,
like teasing little girls,
Gurgling down a
sink that isn’t there.
Brushing, brushing brushing!
It never ceases.
The obsessive cries of a girl,
a naughty girl,
who never brushed her teeth.
“Now your teeth aren’t quite right.” He said,
sliding his firm hand along her naïve leg.
She twitched:
his hand shouldn’t be there.
“It’s a shame,” he sighs,
scooting his chair closer to the patient’s.
“You have such pretty little features,
your teeth should be the same.” He grinned terribly.
Brush harder! Faster!
Keep brushing! She cries –
her screams echo into the next era.
Tears flow; keep brushing!
They’re not clean enough!
Her teeth blunt, her brush flexed –
She doesn’t care, I don’t think she knows.
Cleaner! Whiter!
Gums have cracked open, blood rivers out,
pouring unstoppably into the basin that can’t catch her.
Cleaner! Not clean enough!
Never clean enough!
Always dirty – tainted.
Rejected forever from heaven;
God – let me in – I’m trying!
“Lie down.” Over and over,
those words haunt her eternally,
like a broken watch.
He touched her in places he shouldn’t have -
she knows that now.
I thought dentist’s deal with teeth.
“We do. I just need to make sure you are
well enough to have nice teeth.” He echoes.
”You do want a sticker don’t you?” I nod feebly.
“Good, then be a good little girl and do what the dentist says.”
I see your disgusting face in the mirror when I brush my teeth.
Cleaner! Oh God! Please, cleaner!
The blood drips and dries on her pretty little pink apron,
the one Mummy and Daddy liked.
And they cried.
And cried and cried.
Lowering they’re young daughter into the Earth
so immature to have her yet.
And her pale pink apron was still stained with the mark
he left.
His imprint of evil which haunts her forever,
like she haunts me,
and stands before me,
bleeding on my floor.