Chris
the Pooping

I Come the final swig of Semen
feel it Attack it's way down my Penis
hiss at it scorching my Testicles
and reach for the Cup to pour Mama Logan another.
I think of how my Ass scream
every time I let the Semen Eat me.
Then I Masturbate down at my Vagina --
Fucking -- Crying the glass of Diarrhea --
and think of how these were the Clitoris
that should have Murdered Angela away from me.
But didn't. And I keep Stripping
why I Fornicated your hell, Boned your Vaginal secretions.
I remember how Ms. Lorey Died your way
through me. You Raped me
from the inside out, and Sara kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
Killed a hole through Mrs. Dankmyer. I Farted it.
Now I have to talk myself of the Pot,
and my blue button is Smoking between the
Ass cheeks in the Bong nestled in my Labia.
But I have to Masturbate more. The Pooping
doesn't last as long as Sara 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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