about literature

"..You want your paintings? You want your books?
Get it!.."
That's funny, I just wanted a photographer with a beard instead of you, asshole.
You died for that.
Of course I got what I wanted, like I said.

But that was my smiling photocopier portrait hanging on your door.
With black painted lips and eyes and a black stocking for my hair,
I'm like, shit, you're right.
I hope your whores liked that?
I was there before your funeral, it was hanging on the door.

Heavy Wardrobe
I killed a huge ant on your grave with your knife
And threw away their flowers.
Because you had a terrible dream about an anthill under your chair not long before.
That's really scary.

That's you who wrote "I'm a fool" in green paint all over the wall behind the wardrobe.
I saw the inscription when you were lying in the morgue.
Enjoy, everyone saw it.

Panda bear from the children's store Lena plus Borya
we didn't finish writing equal on the heart in his paws.
I hope your whores always saw him out of the corner of their fucking eye.
Bukowski for God's sake, I can't.
I'll kill him now.
He's already dead.

I'll go get him ice cream and beer,
while he calls those whores.
I'm twenty years old and I have a win-win advantage over you ugly whores.
Bukowski Charles, damn you!

"Do you want your paintings? Do you want your books?
Damn these writers, along with their hyper-realism.
I don't want to remember this!

You were too handsome, darling.
Yes, "he came out tall and handsome, thanks to his mother and father"
Sluts, do you like my man?
Sluts, did you get a good look at my smirk
on my big portrait on his door?
I hope you never came.

Bukowski, for God's sake, stop.
I felt good with you.
Oh yeah, sure.
Damn literature. This has never happened before.
Never read Charles Bukowski, he's a bad writer
and you might have some unpredictable negative flashbacks.