A poem about the dentist.

Shaking,nervous,fear I arrive

Walking toward doom, I enter

waiting waiting artificial flowers can not ease despair

They call, I follow, I can't escape now

I sit in small demented chair surrounded by devices even Lucifer would fear

I hear him he is coming

I see him the sadist has emerged will I survive

The chair leans back what will become of me

white lights like fiery demons that have come to rip my eyes out

He tells me to open I must obey

A tiny hook enters I want to scream

water filling my mouth am I going to drown

I spit it out, he is done, I am free

before I escape I am told I must come back

pray for me because the next time I may not survive

The only thing that hit me is that I think that you might mean sadist rather than masochist. (At least, that seems to be the spirit of your poem.)

Good job! :thumbsup:

I changed it.

...so much drilling and filling, that I now laugh at dentists.

The dentist chair is where I first learned how to consciously have an out of body experience.

If Satan has leagues of dentists in Hell, he'll have to do better than that on me.