A preview to my memoirs

Always in desperate
search
for a pencil
should be
the word engraved on the stone
resting over my head
And the title of
my memoirs
“Ice cream
and Whiskey
for breakfast –
a survivalist guide
to modern day capitalism”
or
“Tunnel vision –
Rat holes are never bright”;
“I got
to stop
– how to hide in your
own hide”;
“I hope a flower
is going to
drink me one day
– a romantic tale
from the compost heap”
“8 schools burned
– never arrested”
A look past
the attention-grabbing cover
“A philosophers legacy
on how to kill
schools of thoughts”;
“Got some love spare? –
Banging on welfare”
“Why the fuck him? –
or what is more important
what the fuck
would be actually wrong
with me?”
“I barely made the playground
AMA”
Hurray,
people in my circle will have
something to talk about again.
They will have something
from the chosen
witnesses
of a collection
of memories, emotions,
photos and thoughts
the life of a guy
culminated in
wetting himself
in a pit of piss
dying drunken
on a kitchen floor.
Turning white tiles red
The autopsy report says
He split his head
on the refrigerator door.
Writing on his wall
in black
partly important pieces
carved into concrete
into the concrete
People who knew him
confirm.
his body
was well preserved
when he was later found
unconsciously swimming,
drowned in his own blood.
“An ending
he would have
surely appreciated…”,
his closest friends said,
“…he always had a fable for the obscure”
in the insider interview
in a little box on the bottom
– curiosity section –
of the 14th page
of a free metro
newspaper.

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