when I think of myself dead
I think of automobiles parked in
a parking lot
when I think of myself dead
I think of frying pans
when I think of myself dead
I think of somebody making love to you
when I’m not around
when I think of myself dead
I have trouble breathing
when I think of myself dead
I think of all the people waiting to die
when I think of myself dead
I think I won’t be able to drink water anymore
when I think of myself dead
the air goes all white
the roaches in my kitchen
tremble
and somebody will have to throw
my clean and dirty underwear
away.
Altre opere di Charles Bukowski...
