Linda
the snowing

I dance the final swig of hot chocolate
feel it drink it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my ears
and reach for the to pour another.
I think of how my scream
every time I let the hot chocolate 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 snowing
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.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...