As if I were old, I bury
friends from the hospital
Who is left compares
the ritual with images from above
(and oneself as a spectator)

of the farewell
where you are not present yourself
after the anticlimax that precedes it
Y o u     d o n ' t     w a n t     t o     k n o w
No, nobody wants to know
(not about themselves
  not about anyone else)

Protesting against Life
is very much Being alive
even if it is ridiculous
all the more so because
you still want so much
(to experience and enjoy)

Maybe I'm just shouting
screaming not to cry and die
of despair
Friends catch snatches
(and do not understand me)

There are also happy hours
bittersweet
when I give it a thought
that far too soon
they won't be there anymore
(I won't be there anymore)