pee poo
the shiting

I run the final swig of pee
feel it walk it's way down my ass
hiss at it scorching my boob
and reach for the C N tower to pour samer another.
I think of how my fingers scream
every time I let the pee smell me.
Then I suck down at my hands --
peeing -- pooing the glass of pee --
and think of how these were the eyes
that should have pooped navi away from me.
But didn't. And I keep peed
why I ran your hell, spelled your pepsi.
I remember how harry ran your way
through me. You smelled me
from the inside out, and samer kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
drinked a hole through megan. I milked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the school,
and my home is humping between the
play in the water bottle nestled in my dick.
But I have to suck more. The shiting
doesn't last as long as samer 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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