911

You fed
and quenched
the body
of our
friendship

with flamin hots
and off-brand
sodas.

it feasted
on cream-dollopy
scrumptous
french pastries,

slathered
sizzling bacon
strips in
mayonnaise

before shoving
its mouth full
of indulgence.

now it’s having
heart-pain
under left
arm pit, and
asking us to
write it’s will.

it wanted
us
to know,

“you’ve got
to die of
something…

..why not
make it
something
you love.”

we’ve left it,

phone off
the hook;

A bandage
over
vital organ
failure,

to die, only
where it lived.