Pity

Gimme gimme gimme is all you say
regarding pina coladas, never ever
drink but inhale like oxygen.
Filling stomach lining with cancer
and feeding burning desires to shut
it in- never let it out. Peek-a-boo
my friend, you lie like no yesterday.
Always forgetting details, simplicities.
They never change but get distorted
in the broken glass of frames for
pictures of family reunions where
you meet a cousin you didn't know
existed. May or may not even be
really related, but you tell them you're
getting hitched and then they say
you're dying because they're actually
a doctor so you get checked.
Sure enough, six months left.
What a waste, pity it really is.
So now you're at my house and
asking me for a lobotomy, but I
forgot my bonesaw in my other
coat so you have to suffer until your
cancers kill you off.