I died yesterday, by my own hand,
And now here I am;
Standing like a ******* idiot in my kitchen,
And craving cornflakes.
The reasons why I did it seem hazy now;
All the buttoning and unbuttoning seemed to much,
Or else a love had left me,
And now I can't even grasp a bowl.
******! That's what it is! Pure stupidity!
And I just want some ****** Crunchy Nut!
The bathrooms off-limits now;
It just makes me angry to see myself lying there,
No longer able to help anyone, least of all myself,
And that body didn't seem to care
About my cereal ****.
So here I am; staring at the cupboard,
But unable to open it,
and I don't even know if there's
any cereal left in the ****** thing anyway.
All those ****** myths about ghosts walking
Through walls was wrong apparently;
I'm just slowly fading away.
So here I am; craving cereal like a spoon.
The ****** spoon that I'm unable to grasp;
That seems to chortle, facelessly, at my attempts.
And being forever angry at that
****** idiot in the bathroom
For whom I feel nothing but contempt.
“The real question of life after death isn't whether or not it exists, but even if it does what problem this really solves.”
― Ludwig Wittgenstein