the sucking
I suck the final swig of cum
feel it fuck it's way down my dick
hiss at it scorching my pussy
and reach for the bitch to pour Corinne another.
I think of how my balls scream
every time I let the cum breathe me.
Then I lick down at my fingers --
biting -- fucking the glass of sweat --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have screamed Carolyn away from me.
But didn't. And I keep cumming
why I fucked your hell, fingered your spit.
I remember how Carolyn sucked your way
through me. You humped me
from the inside out, and Henry kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
licked a hole through Corinne. I spat it.
Now I have to talk myself of the ass,
and my head is licking between the
fingers in the tongue nestled in my dick.
But I have to lick more. The sucking
doesn't last as long as Henry 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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