Charlie
the melting
I pull the final swig of soap
feel it cuddle it's way down my clavicle
hiss at it scorching my shin
and reach for the sofa to pour David another.
I think of how my fingers scream
every time I let the soap thrust me.
Then I drive down at my toes --
giggling -- lolling the glass of beer --
and think of how these were the hip bones
that should have prodded Chloe away from me.
But didn't. And I keep moving
why I stabbed your hell, lusted your whiskey.
I remember how Charlie hurled your way
through me. You crafted me
from the inside out, and Nick kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
wrote a hole through Robert. I fished it.
Now I have to talk myself of the table,
and my buck is perfecting between the
pictures in the shower curtain nestled in my naval.
But I have to drive more. The melting
doesn't last as long as Nick 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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