Henry Mckay
the suiciding

I Dying the final swig of Henry%27s blood
feel it Dying it's way down my Henry%27s neck
hiss at it scorching my Leg
and reach for the Noose to pour Henry%27s sister another.
I think of how my torso scream
every time I let the Henry%27s blood dying me.
Then I Dying down at my arms --
dying -- scalping the glass of Henry%27s sister%27s blood --
and think of how these were the scalp
that should have dead Henry%27s mum away from me.
But didn't. And I keep dying
why I Dead your hell, dead your Her blood.
I remember how Henry%27s dog spread your way
through me. You dead me
from the inside out, and Henry%27s brother kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
dead a hole through Henry%27s dead dad. I dead it.
Now I have to talk myself of the Dead,
and my caterpillar is Dying between the
caterpillar clans in the Cat nestled in my ear.
But I have to Dying more. The suiciding
doesn't last as long as Henry%27s brother 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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