Wednesday, 31 January 2018

Roman

None of my Instagram followers bothered to turn up to my funeral. In fact, the amount of people that showed up could be represented using a single numeral. I had two thousand followers but it made my life no more endurable, and now for all my pain, my name is being washed away as if it was scrawled upon the inside of a urinal. Unusual - I thought that I would be seared into people's brains like something incurable, every single word and rhyme I wrote, I was convinced was so mercurial. But now, there I lay, just fleshy decomposing material, ready and waiting to be lunched on by something bacterial. What an outrage that there's not even an editorial, just my date of death and my name in the memorials. God I hope my life was just this game's tutorial, I'll be back, and next time I'm gunna be dictatorial.

No comments:

Post a Comment