Scott
the fucking

I suck the final swig of semen
feel it lick it's way down my boob
hiss at it scorching my butt
and reach for the book to pour Allyson another.
I think of how my penis scream
every time I let the semen have sex me.
Then I kick down at my testicles --
smelling -- hearing the glass of sperm --
and think of how these were the arm
that should have bumped Scott away from me.
But didn't. And I keep kissing
why I heard your hell, kissed your cum.
I remember how Huei ran your way
through me. You joked me
from the inside out, and Rachel kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
smiled a hole through Rebecca. I likced it.
Now I have to talk myself of the computer,
and my penis is running between the
mice in the mouse nestled in my dick.
But I have to kick more. The fucking
doesn't last as long as Rachel 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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