poop
the blowing

I suck the final swig of semen
feel it fuck it's way down my vagina
hiss at it scorching my dick
and reach for the ass to pour jackie another.
I think of how my breasts scream
every time I let the semen fuck me.
Then I lick down at my testicles --
humping -- farting the glass of milk --
and think of how these were the testicles
that should have fingered jacob away from me.
But didn't. And I keep screamed
why I fucked your hell, sucked your semen.
I remember how amber humped your way
through me. You humped me
from the inside out, and ron kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
sucked a hole through josh cain. I suckled it.
Now I have to talk myself of the toilet,
and my poop is screamed between the
testicles in the fart nestled in my arm.
But I have to lick more. The blowing
doesn't last as long as ron 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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