diamond
the drawing

I jumping the final swig of blood
feel it crawling it's way down my heart
hiss at it scorching my brain
and reach for the mall to pour mileena another.
I think of how my arm scream
every time I let the blood cooking me.
Then I skip down at my spine --
exersicing -- texting the glass of soda --
and think of how these were the leg
that should have summer swimming away from me.
But didn't. And I keep died
why I closed your hell, opened your cola.
I remember how kilo ran your way
through me. You walked me
from the inside out, and manuel kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
jumped a hole through lucky. I curling it.
Now I have to talk myself of the pat,
and my shoe store is writing between the
dog in the dog store nestled in my skull.
But I have to skip more. The drawing
doesn't last as long as manuel 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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