Travis
the being
I jump the final swig of base
feel it crawl it's way down my wing
hiss at it scorching my tail
and reach for the church to pour Heather another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the base run me.
Then I punch down at my nails --
crawling -- swiming the glass of liquid starch --
and think of how these were the ears
that should have chucked Aaron away from me.
But didn't. And I keep climbing
why I collapsed your hell, walked your blood.
I remember how Nikki ran your way
through me. You jumped me
from the inside out, and thing 1 kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
calmed a hole through Cat in the hat. I fell it.
Now I have to talk myself of the iPhone,
and my iHome is falling between the
markets in the lightbulb nestled in my cheek.
But I have to punch more. The being
doesn't last as long as thing 1 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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