Poetry that makes you sick.

when i was a kid, a younger kid, a friend of mine left some playboy magazines at my house. i searched and searched but i wasn't satisfied with any hiding of my usual hiding places. i had a viscious mother, mind you. a sadist. so after rolling back and forth in bed for an hour, i decided to burn the magazines in the stove. there were 3 or 4 magazines all told. i opened the stove, tossed them, then closed the door. but instead of burning, the magazines extinquished the fire.