Ulcer

A bitten lip, a slip, a mistake, a sharp pain as teeth cut into flesh.  An anger that rises, wells up and looks for an outlet, a desire to throw and hit out and slam a fist.  The metallic taste of blood is on the tongue between the teeth.  A curled lip in the mirror shows the angry red skin, pierced and bleeding. The inevitable will happen and tomorrow it has. 

A cloudy white mark appears, a breach in the fabric which is warm to the tongue and tastes slightly sweet, bitter-sweet.  It is a pin prick, a scour, a raised lump that gets in the way of the bite and stings with salt and burns with heat and sears with pain when bitten again.  There are tears in the eyes.   It is a rotting viral scar that eats into the mouth, eroding, dissolving and poisoning the soft tissue.  It is a tiny inconvenience totally out of proportion but an annoyance, a thorn in the inside, a battle between good and evil, a fight for survival, an attack on the very being.

And nothing helps, no pastes or pastels, no creams or lotions, no tablets or rinses, nothing takes away the swelling or the stinging.  No formula or homeopathic cure, no brew or witches’ potion makes a dent in the small white void.  Only time, only time helps and suddenly it is gone, healed, repaired and the mouth is made good and the irritation is gone.  The battle is won but not the war, until the next time.