blank
the blank

I blank the final swig of blank
feel it blank it's way down my blank
hiss at it scorching my blank
and reach for the blank to pour blank another.
I think of how my blank scream
every time I let the blank blank me.
Then I blank down at my blank --
blank -- blank the glass of blank --
and think of how these were the blank
that should have blank blank away from me.
But didn't. And I keep blank
why I blank your hell, blank your blank.
I remember how blank blank your way
through me. You blank me
from the inside out, and blank kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
blank a hole through blank. I blank it.
Now I have to talk myself of the blank,
and my blank is blank between the
blank in the blank nestled in my blank.
But I have to blank more. The blank
doesn't last as long as blank 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.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...