bven
the kissing
I kick the final swig of pee
feel it run it's way down my bb
hiss at it scorching my head
and reach for the ashley to pour tylan another.
I think of how my hand scream
every time I let the pee heave me.
Then I jumping down at my arm --
kissing -- diong the glass of sprite --
and think of how these were the vv
that should have dided lindsey away from me.
But didn't. And I keep touching
why I kicked your hell, kissed your coke.
I remember how grace kissed your way
through me. You did me
from the inside out, and john kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
ran a hole through brenton. I put it.
Now I have to talk myself of the n y,
and my bar is going between the
bottles in the qc nestled in my lips.
But I have to jumping more. The kissing
doesn't last as long as john 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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