TARAAA
the Shitting
I hiss the final swig of piss
feel it fuck it's way down my penis
hiss at it scorching my penis
and reach for the glue to pour michaun another.
I think of how my vagina scream
every time I let the piss push me.
Then I hit down at my ass --
hitting -- shiting the glass of vomit --
and think of how these were the penis
that should have vomiting cosette away from me.
But didn't. And I keep pissing
why I held your hell, pushed your boat nector.
I remember how kylie sucked your way
through me. You raped me
from the inside out, and tara kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
murdered a hole through miranda. I Flyed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the candy,
and my glue is fucking between the
squirt gun in the phone nestled in my penis.
But I have to hit more. The Shitting
doesn't last as long as tara 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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