NaPoWriMoPoem#6

My teeth feel
(they have feelings)
as though fingernails are being scratched down them,
disrupting arcane scribblings
in a small hand -
bacteria have won,
write histories,
upon my teeth,
my breath,
their scent -

I scent
their scent,
& run in for the chase,
The Mouth of Hell,
the crumb-strewn carapace
of my belly, my lungs, my ... INSERT TOILET HUMOUR HERE (I CAN'T/WON'T, I'M A GIRL)

I think of them, sometimes, my teeth, like hair
all stacked together like books on bookshelves,
melded through time -
if I could catch an end
it would come out
slither like porcelain made monsterous
out of its soft bed,
bloodied and unbent,
metamorphosed out of its covenant
to be one thing & not another, like me face,
the night before last, leapt,
from face to face to face, who imprinted
me with their ... memes? my mock-memory 
parades them round a gaolyard of hurt
& heartache that adds up to early death
(as though it were so delicate, that, breath
like when, this morning, I was stifled in
the covers, & your laughed - I couldn't breathe -
made noises like a cold rained on cat -
to die, LIKE THAT, to die, to die LIKE THAT!)