Jessica
the getting

I running the final swig of water
feel it skipping it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my eye
and reach for the store to pour fed ex man another.
I think of how my leg scream
every time I let the water climbing me.
Then I jumping down at my head --
seeing -- selling the glass of pop --
and think of how these were the foot
that should have cleaned mailman away from me.
But didn't. And I keep sawing
why I went your hell, moved your juice.
I remember how Allison carried your way
through me. You got me
from the inside out, and clown kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
went a hole through mime. I jogged it.
Now I have to talk myself of the door,
and my Taylor is dancing between the
finds in the girl nestled in my ear.
But I have to jumping more. The getting
doesn't last as long as clown 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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