arve maudal
the racing
I the final swig of coca cola
feel it it's way down my head
hiss at it scorching my
and reach for the car to pour another.
I think of how my scream
every time I let the coca cola me.
Then I down at my --
-- the glass of --
and think of how these were the
that should have away from me.
But didn't. And I keep
why I your hell, your .
I remember how your way
through me. You me
from the inside out, and kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
a hole through . I it.
Now I have to talk myself of the ,
and my is between the
in the nestled in my .
But I have to more. The racing
doesn't last as long as 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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