Phase 1.
He will be missed.
that's what they'll write on your Facebook
tombstone,
after they'll scatter your ashes
all over the big blue virtual ocean.
small pieces of your memory
will end up on people's profile pictures
(the full black ones
are small parts of your
Nick Cave t-shirt).
they'll suddenly remember
that you once existed and
that they had the honor
of not picking up YOUR phone calls.
they'll share all your favorite songs
on their side of the wall,
saying this and that
and how you inspired them
through your nonsense.
they'll hashtag your big fat ***
with that special #RIP *******,
knowing that you haven't
slept well in a while.
Phase 2.
Something's missing.
that's what they'll say
after a couple of months,
when they'll look at the empty places
in their bookcases
and realize that,
indeed,
it wasn't a good idea to lend their books
to a depressed as **** *******.
they'll go online
and order new books
and try to forget your absence;
your song will be played again.
you'll be an echo one more time,
water under their bridge,
a white paint mark that they leave behind on the road,
on their way to the seaside,
a decent line
in a Romanian new wave movie
that makes them smile for a second
and then, after the screening's over, try to remember..
you had the choice of carving smiles into stone or
that of throwing stones into smiles.
what do you think people saw?
Phase 0.**
you don't have to live a great life.
you just have to die a simple death.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBlNUkEVA4A]
