I'm lying in bed, and I'm chewing my teeth out.
I'm filled with elusive indescribable dread, the cause of
which  is unknown to me, and I'm chewing my teeth out.
I don't always brush them, by the way.
Here I lie.
I've been tossing around the bed, mummified in sheets for
hours now, and this uneasiness will not leave me.
I sleep' but am aware.
Sometimes, when i'm going through a depressed phase, I can
go weeks with only rudimentary, occasional brushings.
So my teeth wobble. in my gums, my jaw.
In my skull.
I fight this dread, this intangible fear, trying
desperately to rest - to no avail.
The dread consumes me.
And I chew my teeth.
And they're really gnashing, the way the teeth of a man half
frozen to death - occasionally snipping off some lip, some
tongue, all unnoticed - might do.
Uncontrollably, the same way one can't not tongue a sore on
the inside of their cheek, or on the roof of their mouth -
knowing it only makes matters worse, but unable to stop.
And my teeth begin to crumble.
as they gnash, and little flecks and pieces crumble off and
are chewed to dust, to paste.
My teeth themselves are pulled back and forth by the chewing
motion, reeling drunkenly in their sockets, feeling like
they'll eventually be pulled from their spongy foundation
by the unreasoning terror which grips me so late, so tight,
and refuses to let go.
With every motion, they shift that much more.
With every motion, my teeth disintigrate, more tooth flecks
are ground into tooth paste.
With every motion, it feels like the next will bring blood.
And I cannot stop.
The dread feeds the frustration feeds the helplesness feeds
the fear feeds the dread, escalating, spiraling upwards
through me, leaving me dazed, helpless and in despair.
And I cannot stop.
And I cannot wake up.
And the intangible dread will not go away.