Rebecca
the Shooting
I Run the final swig of Cum
feel it Splash it's way down my Hand
hiss at it scorching my Foot
and reach for the Kitten to pour Alexis another.
I think of how my Eyes scream
every time I let the Cum blink me.
Then I Shoot down at my Ears --
Crying -- Licking the glass of Tears --
and think of how these were the Fingers
that should have Sucking Peter away from me.
But didn't. And I keep Blowing
why I Licked your hell, Kissed your Blood.
I remember how Tony Ran your way
through me. You Swam me
from the inside out, and Lucilla kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
Touched a hole through Pyro. I Flamed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the Dog,
and my Mouse is Trotting between the
Horses in the Rat nestled in my Tail.
But I have to Shoot more. The Shooting
doesn't last as long as Lucilla 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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