Melissa
the digesting
I shudder the final swig of espresso
feel it scream it's way down my neck
hiss at it scorching my nose
and reach for the seesaw to pour acrobat another.
I think of how my toes scream
every time I let the espresso crumble me.
Then I waltz down at my hips --
pouting -- circumnavigating the glass of pinot grigio --
and think of how these were the elbows
that should have scratched ballerina away from me.
But didn't. And I keep brewing
why I buzzed your hell, scuffled your margarita.
I remember how singer tangled your way
through me. You barbequed me
from the inside out, and pianist kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
massaged a hole through doctor. I cracked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the cupcake,
and my candle is punching between the
icicles in the mask nestled in my spine.
But I have to waltz more. The digesting
doesn't last as long as pianist 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.
Problems with this page? Then deal with it...