Lauren
the spooning
I fondle the final swig of spooge
feel it spit it's way down my penacular
hiss at it scorching my vagacular
and reach for the fireplace to pour George Washington another.
I think of how my nostrils scream
every time I let the spooge pick me.
Then I mow down at my knuckles --
splashing -- kicking the glass of v-8 --
and think of how these were the belly buttons
that should have molested Kyle away from me.
But didn't. And I keep ticking
why I spanking your hell, washed your urine.
I remember how Drick peed your way
through me. You pooped me
from the inside out, and Drew Carey kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
skated a hole through Sylvia. I cracked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the school,
and my bug is stealing between the
dudes in the twit nestled in my testicle.
But I have to mow more. The spooning
doesn't last as long as Drew Carey 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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