Teeth Dreams

A list of every way I’ve dreamed about my teeth falling out.

I open my mouth. All of my teeth fall out at once. Dream ends.

My teeth crumble, like ancient ruins inside of my mouth. They become dust in my hands and my salty tears mix with the teeth dust. I scatter this mixture onto the ground.

I go about a typical day, running errands, eating tacos. All the while, my teeth are falling out, scattering throughout this dream location. Tacos are always included and I never seem to notice, or care, that my teeth are missing.

One tooth falls into the mouth of some faceless, but still attractive man while we are making out. He is, obviously, disgusted. (That said, I am open to the idea of a dream during which he is turned on instead. What would that mean?)

I sit in an unidentifiable location and anxiously wiggle my own front two teeth until I can pull them out of my mouth. Blood is everywhere. Usually, I am sobbing. Nightmare ends.

I have acquired some sort of deadly mouth disease. My teeth are rotting and disgusting, like much of the food in my kitchen. The sad, sick teeth fall out of my mouth one at a time. Once they are gone, I die.

The moment I enter my dream state, I spew a mouthful of teeth all over the place. The end.

My teeth become conscious and leave my mouth. Like, they get up walk out of it, chatting about what they will do now that they are no longer slaves to my habitual ice chomping. Then it’s over.

I have dreamed of my teeth falling out onstage. The audience always screams and points. I have do idea what talent has brought me to this stage for I have no stage worthy talents IRL. The end.

I am in the midst of some other sexual act (not making out). I yank a tooth out of my mouth and must try and keep the same as previously mentioned faceless attractive man from noticing. I am confused as to why I did this but ready for him to finish so I can figure out my teeth thing.

I am in the midst of some other sexual act (not making out). I yank a tooth out of my mouth and ask faceless attractive man to please stop. I must find a mirror so that I might stare at the hole where my tooth used to be. I cry.

The end.

 

Photo via wongjunhao/flickr.

Sarah-Grace Sweeney is a recent journalism graduate and a current gluten-free, yoga-practicing Ciara lover. In a past life she had purple hair. You can follow her at @sarahgrace317

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