The Grind

The ice, a sudden shard.

A jolt, deep in the jaw,

a protest, hard.

The white curve,

a familiar flaw.

I felt it give,

a small, sharp sound

only I could hear.

The quiet live

erosion, underground.

This one, back left,

its smooth side

from years of quiet friction.

Now, a cleft.

A faint yellow tide

at the gum's constriction.

It knows the strain,

the small, persistent clench

through sleep, through thought.

A dull pain,

a low, steady wrench.

A battle it has fought.

And lost a little more.

Just a fraction, gone.

The edge is thin.

What's left to store

before the whole thing's drawn

out from within?