the Running
I Piss the final swig of Pee
feel it Suck it's way down my Earlobe
hiss at it scorching my Nipple
and reach for the Yellow to pour Leo another.
I think of how my Leg scream
every time I let the Pee Eat me.
Then I bite down at my Lips --
Killing -- Fucking the glass of Orange Juice --
and think of how these were the Penis
that should have Blowing Taha Zaidi away from me.
But didn't. And I keep Rubbing
why I Fingered your hell, Shot your Sperm.
I remember how Brian Kraemer ate your way
through me. You hit me
from the inside out, and Laura Petriello kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
fucked a hole through Pierre Toma. I Slapped it.
Now I have to talk myself of the Blue,
and my Balls is banging between the
Trees in the weed nestled in my ass.
But I have to bite more. The Running
doesn't last as long as Laura Petriello 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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