Ashley
the licking

I sing the final swig of oil
feel it enjoy it's way down my stomach
hiss at it scorching my finger
and reach for the book to pour boyfriend another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the oil swivel me.
Then I eat down at my toes --
smelling -- decorating the glass of juice --
and think of how these were the arms
that should have annoyed sister away from me.
But didn't. And I keep leaning
why I called your hell, turned your milk.
I remember how girl closed your way
through me. You talked me
from the inside out, and Santa Claus kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
flew a hole through Brock. I listened it.
Now I have to talk myself of the fairy,
and my boat is typing between the
animals in the cage nestled in my leg.
But I have to eat more. The licking
doesn't last as long as Santa Claus 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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