I don't know
why I am trying
to answer her
rhetorical question
as I cringe from the sight
of the string
of bloody floss.
The bright lights.
The rubber fingers.
The salty blood.
Maybe it's
one of the few
times in life when
one is fully exposed
by their negligence.
And at the end,
I pause at the front desk
to schedule
my next confessional.
