ELISE
the JUMPING
I RUN the final swig of BLOOD
feel it WALK it's way down my VEINS
hiss at it scorching my ELBOW
and reach for the COMPUTER to pour KEVIN another.
I think of how my BUTT scream
every time I let the BLOOD TALK me.
Then I TYPE down at my HAND --
TALKING -- LIVING the glass of WATER --
and think of how these were the LUNGS
that should have TALKED ELISE away from me.
But didn't. And I keep WALKING
why I WALKED your hell, RAN your BLOOD.
I remember how JOE JUMPED your way
through me. You TYPED me
from the inside out, and NICK kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
MOVED a hole through ZAC. I WASHED it.
Now I have to talk myself of the TV,
and my CAR is MOVING between the
DOGS in the MOUSE nestled in my HEART.
But I have to TYPE more. The JUMPING
doesn't last as long as NICK do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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