d
the loathing

I pound the final swig of acid
feel it squeeze it's way down my tongue
hiss at it scorching my scalara
and reach for the Bible to pour Emily another.
I think of how my thighs scream
every time I let the acid blow me.
Then I lick down at my lips --
flapping -- swinging the glass of grease --
and think of how these were the toes
that should have crushed Jessica away from me.
But didn't. And I keep smelling
why I laid your hell, hated your puke.
I remember how Johny hurled your way
through me. You used me
from the inside out, and Delaney kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
hungered a hole through DellaMae. I leaped it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dirt,
and my cloud is dangling between the
they in the banana nestled in my finger.
But I have to lick more. The loathing
doesn't last as long as Delaney 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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