Stephanie
the Running
I Swimming the final swig of Water
feel it doing it's way down my leg
hiss at it scorching my butt
and reach for the person to pour Kent another.
I think of how my back scream
every time I let the Water run me.
Then I writing down at my Arms --
skipping -- Throwing the glass of water --
and think of how these were the Head
that should have jumped Stephanie away from me.
But didn't. And I keep tossing
why I kicking your hell, sat your beer.
I remember how Shania Twain jumped your way
through me. You fixed me
from the inside out, and GW kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
looked a hole through Britney Spears. I tackled it.
Now I have to talk myself of the glass,
and my chair is drinking between the
people in the pencil nestled in my eyes.
But I have to writing more. The Running
doesn't last as long as GW 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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