Pedro Tejada
the thrusting

I pull the final swig of jizz
feel it lick it's way down my crack
hiss at it scorching my va-jay-jay
and reach for the sex schmorgassboard to pour Oprah GIRLFRIEND another.
I think of how my vaginas scream
every time I let the jizz open me.
Then I braying down at my tits --
panting -- squealing the glass of blooooooood --
and think of how these were the toes
that should have pushed The Big T away from me.
But didn't. And I keep eating
why I cussed your hell, sang your more jizz.
I remember how Mariah Carey inserted your way
through me. You sucked me
from the inside out, and Jessica Linan kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
blew a hole through Brenda Mageeluhhuhluh. I flew it.
Now I have to talk myself of the lube,
and my leather chaps is whipping between the
blue balls in the beauty queen nestled in my goose pimple.
But I have to braying more. The thrusting
doesn't last as long as Jessica Linan 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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