STACY
the puking
I eat the final swig of bile
feel it fart it's way down my elbow
hiss at it scorching my belly
and reach for the ball to pour liberal another.
I think of how my butt scream
every time I let the bile win me.
Then I follow down at my nose --
sucking -- peeing the glass of barf --
and think of how these were the fingers
that should have died cop away from me.
But didn't. And I keep singing
why I stole your hell, broke your nail polish.
I remember how teacher lost your way
through me. You swallowed me
from the inside out, and dad kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
coughed up a hole through sister. I burned it.
Now I have to talk myself of the ferret,
and my pig is running between the
pizzas in the tree nestled in my eyeball.
But I have to follow more. The puking
doesn't last as long as dad 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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