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