The idiocy book can be buried with me. That would be fitting. Never published. Published by the earth. In the earth. Published as unreadable. As buried. Never brought to light. The tomb of the unknown idiocy-book writer. Beneath the earth sky.
Why do you always want to die?
It would make things simple, dying. It would clear everything up. A resolution – isn’t that what we want?
Work in Progress 