Nausea rushes through your system like those all-white firemen on the Gaviscon advert,
You can try and distract yourself all you like but you just don't seem able to subvert,
The queasy feeling that resides in your insides, perverting your stomach's status quo,
and to add insult to injury, aside from your sluggish nature, there's little chance that other people will even know.

So you suffer in silence, biting your lip in the fear that every burp contains a bit of last night's meal,
realising that realistically you should've ordered the korma instead of the red-hot curry two-for-one deal.
Feeling fit to burst, it doesn't help things that you're anxiously waiting to be called in to face the dentist's chair,
Your inner sense of morals and justice raise their fists to the heavens, proclaming that this situation just isn't fair.

With every other name the receptionist cries out, you get a strange combined feeling of relief and pain,
One half of you says, "thank god that wasn't me", the other half remarks, "poor Shane".
You can't imagine anywhere else you'd less like to be, even stuck watching two teams play catenaccio live on ITV,
But suddenly your ears tense up, and you raise your head to hear and see - yours truly, please make your way straight to room 3.

You make your way down the hallway, grip the doorknob like a loved one, and eventually turn it to enter,
you see the walls spattered with all shades of blood, and a small man in the corner eating placenta.
You scream inside, and ask yourself, what chamber of horrors is this!?
Suddenly your eyes re-adjust, and even the sight of the dentist is pure bliss.

Your hallucinations had got the better of you, but you're still not looking forward to the future.
As you sit yourself down, you imagine what you'd rather be doing - watching the filthiest porn ever on your computer.
But unluckily, the dentist's a bloke, this won't even begin to placate you,
Instead you open your mouth, and just like in space, no-one will hear the scream escape you.

Your whole body tightens up as he stabs you in the gums, with no regard for your personal health,
you were walking through the car park earlier, that was his BMW and you know it, does evil always lead to wealth?
Even this thought of injustice doesn't do much for the saliva and tooth-chips cluttering up your throat,
For some reason you feel guilty to breathe, despite the fact that your tongue is doing all it can to form a moat.

What feels like hours pass, with you ocasionally raising your arm so you're allowed to swallow,
"Ok, ok!" you cry, "i promise to brush my teeth more often, but in fairness there wasn't an example to follow!"
You have somewhat of a point as well, because all the big screens show is teeth whitened to the nth degree,
but on that same tone, these were all preceeded by adverts your dentist is said to have recommended, so you just don't get off scott-free.

But eventually the time comes, when he's done packing your gums, with the latest in filling technology,
he ushers you out, but not before you mutter, a brief lack-of-brushing insolence apology.
But all apologies in the world won't save your from the bill, as NHS dentist's just don't exist,
As you lay your cash on the front desk, it just might as well be, that the bastard's grabbed hold of your nuts and twist.

A few hours later, the numbness wears off, and you stop talking like a bee's stung your gums,
and it occurs to you that perhaps, dentist's are only in business, because we all just didn't listen to our mums.
They always come out with the best advice, but our rebel mentalities do all they can to go against the grain,
However, that double filling and root canal, may have finally triggered a change in your brain, and an end to molar pain.

Purple & Pink

Fallen hues,
On a planet of fade.
The constant slip,
Of the dull cascade.

So much more could be sensed.
A wasted ability,
Limiting our choice,
Of what we could always see.

When the greyness encloses,
You can still think,
To craft an internal world,
Made of purple and pink.

Can anyone post a poem here? I'm a bit confused.

Lord of Cowards

You may decide to rebel,
All you need is the nerve.
But for I, the Lord of Cowards,
I get everything I deserve.