jay poo poo head
the pissing

I FIX the final swig of urien
feel it slap it's way down my head
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the big to pour jim another.
I think of how my arms scream
every time I let the urien kill me.
Then I plant down at my legs --
killing -- clapping the glass of dloob --
and think of how these were the eyes
that should have kignin bob away from me.
But didn't. And I keep hopping
why I played your hell, killed your water.
I remember how jay hopping your way
through me. You eated me
from the inside out, and your mom kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
eaten a hole through steve. I Ate it.
Now I have to talk myself of the blue,
and my big is jumping between the
dc in the hard nestled in my leg.
But I have to plant more. The pissing
doesn't last as long as your mom 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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