Jacob Best
the lapping

I lap the final swig of urine
feel it smile it's way down my butt
hiss at it scorching my ball
and reach for the house to pour Tammy another.
I think of how my fingers scream
every time I let the urine screw me.
Then I rape down at my toes --
sucking -- fucking the glass of semen --
and think of how these were the balls
that should have wanted Darrel away from me.
But didn't. And I keep hitting
why I left your hell, ran your pussy juice.
I remember how Jennifer swam your way
through me. You felt me
from the inside out, and Alfred kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
held a hole through Joan. I sent it.
Now I have to talk myself of the house,
and my hill is fucking between the
ropes in the saddle nestled in my cock.
But I have to rape more. The lapping
doesn't last as long as Alfred 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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