Jordan
the hitting
I run the final swig of soda
feel it walk it's way down my butt
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the indgo to pour JustinTimberlake another.
I think of how my legs scream
every time I let the soda skip me.
Then I Hop down at my heads --
Swiming -- punching the glass of Beer --
and think of how these were the elbows
that should have limping Rickey Martin away from me.
But didn't. And I keep punched
why I ate your hell, swam your milk.
I remember how Erron Carter eat your way
through me. You laughe me
from the inside out, and michle Jordan kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
kill a hole through R kelly. I sang it.
Now I have to talk myself of the Bright,
and my cute is bit between the
snow balls in the glitery nestled in my finger.
But I have to Hop more. The hitting
doesn't last as long as michle Jordan 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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