Amber
the starting
I run the final swig of tequila
feel it jump it's way down my arm
hiss at it scorching my leg
and reach for the mouth to pour boy another.
I think of how my ears scream
every time I let the tequila scar me.
Then I jumping down at my elbows --
jumping -- jumping the glass of jumping --
and think of how these were the jumping
that should have jumping jumping away from me.
But didn't. And I keep jumping
why I jumping your hell, jumping your jumping.
I remember how jumping jumping your way
through me. You jumping me
from the inside out, and jumping kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
jumping a hole through jumping. I jumping it.
Now I have to talk myself of the jumping,
and my jumping is jumping between the
jumping in the jumping nestled in my jumping.
But I have to jumping more. The starting
doesn't last as long as jumping 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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