My toothbrush is green and white.
It has a nifty little tongue cleaner on the top end,
opposite the bristles.
What does yours look like?
I store my toothbrush in a ceramic cup
that I share with my brother and sister.

I bet you use your toothbrush twice a day:
when you wake up, and
on your way to bed.
Maybe you use it after every meal,
Like Me.

Don’t assume I have glistening white teeth, now.
You’ll make an a** out of you and me. Sshh.
I’m actually decaying.
Rotting.
Disintegrating.


I’m pretty sure
my toothbrush is evil.
It must be evil,
to have a drug in it.

It must have a drug,
to make me addicted.

Not to mention how much my toothbrush
hurts my throat.
I shouldn’t complain, though.
My toothbrush hurts less than my finger.
My fingernails are long,
which, combined with a throat,
is not a good combination.


I promised myself
I wouldn’t take it too far.
I told myself
I’d stop when I started seeing results.

Too bad the evil toothbrush
seems to have screwed up my sight.
I look at my reflection
and look and look and look.
But I never see

the satisfaction I should see.
The gratification,
the results I’ve been waiting for.

I just see my green and white toothbrush,
blocking sight of myself.
And I yet again picture it going down my throat
while countless other things are coming up.
Then I brush my teeth with it,
unsuccessfully preventing decay.


I know I should end this relationship,
yet my Toothbrush is my Best Friend.