Cure for Cancer

It’s all downhill

from here, old man.

Auf wiedersehen.

Two steps forward,

six feet underground.

Standing O,

Take a bow.

Lab coats,

machines

and all the chemotherapy

don’t seem

to me

an answer to these tears you long to see.

So i ain’t crying no more.

I’d pull out the plug

if i could muster up the love.

No one wants memories of

skid marks

pants pissed.

Jim Beam,

Mary Jane.

Wherefore art thou Kevorkian?

No way,

Jose,

it’s not for me

this life spent basking in you agony.

Give me the longest walks.

Prescribe for me the shortest piers.

I ain’t going out like that.

No way, not me, I’d rather die

And as I stood there by his bed,

bowls of Jell-O, crusts of bread,

stared straight into his eyes

and I wanted him to die.

And I felt the shame

Of such, such naiveté

that someone young,

that someone dumb,

someone my age

could feel so callously

to want to piss in the fountains of youth,

to dance all night on the graves of the dead,

to want to tear those pink ribbons to shreds.

And as he lay there in his bed,

80 pounds, half dead,

He said, “Bink, please hold my hand…

I don’ think that you understand…

Oh, puneta, I’ve done all that I can

and I don’t want to die.”

You’re gonna die

You’re gonna die.

You’re gonna.