An Old Man Seeks Euthanasia
my afternoons as an old man are sad
the joy of memories
suffocated by the impossibility
to relive them
I don't know how many cups of coffee I've had
a bus runs regularly every hour
and nobody notices me at the window
inside the thoughts boil
so many dead friends muted my phone
the television I understand it as an enemy
the books are already making me sleepy
euthanasia is the name of that
what makes you calm in peace?
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