They say that I brux,
A four letter word with no exclamation.
It’s the name they give to the pain,
Of trying to grind your body to dust.
Of trying to keep the scars from bleeding
Of trying to forget that tomorrow is still coming.
A brutal physical manifestation,
Of the calcified sorrows and anguish,
And perpetual knowledge of inferiority,
That therapy and valium have yet to dissolve.
I’m now left wondering,
How much more agony would it be
To face those emotional crypts,
Than to keep on fracturing my own teeth?
(c) Accidental Tentacles 2017