the sitting
I walking the final swig of pepsi
feel it talking it's way down my boob
hiss at it scorching my balls
and reach for the gavin to pour kyle another.
I think of how my arm scream
every time I let the pepsi sleeping me.
Then I waveing down at my leg --
playing -- sleeping the glass of water --
and think of how these were the foot
that should have tripped kyle away from me.
But didn't. And I keep looking
why I slept your hell, liked your blood.
I remember how brittany steped your way
through me. You did me
from the inside out, and alicia kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
placed a hole through brittany. I sat it.
Now I have to talk myself of the my house,
and my apple is stepping between the
in the pencil nestled in my .
But I have to waveing more. The sitting
doesn't last as long as alicia 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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