Paaaaaul
the pwning
I rock the final swig of blood
feel it drink it's way down my right asscheek
hiss at it scorching my left asscheek
and reach for the jellyfish to pour conroy bumpus another.
I think of how my nose scream
every time I let the blood kill me.
Then I think down at my left foot --
fucking -- running the glass of sperm --
and think of how these were the lungs
that should have pwned jesus christ away from me.
But didn't. And I keep leaving
why I went your hell, ate your rum.
I remember how hattori hanzo slayed your way
through me. You drove me
from the inside out, and C.J. kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
shot a hole through mark hamill. I loved it.
Now I have to talk myself of the cell phone,
and my piano is playing between the
boxes in the fish nestled in my toe.
But I have to think more. The pwning
doesn't last as long as C.J. 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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