I taste neon in the air. Sort of blah. Like oats.
I hold a smile. Reflecting off each tooth. Is a letter.
From the broken advertisements. That bleed.
Through the falling snow. The molar. Nearest.
My right wisdom. Is broken. As I swallow.
The neon. Stabs. The back of my tongue.
I rub it along. The pointy enamel. Until I develop.
A callous. I hold the winter air. Between my cheeks.
It numbs everything. My smile reveals. The lies.
In glinting advertisements. I try frowning. But the world.
Is upside down.
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