epitaph

Some nights I write myself alone, disconnect the telephone, and lie prone in the middle of the bathroom's cold tiles. I smile while imagining all the nice things people will say about me on my funeral day. I get happy thinking of the eulogy my mother will recite whilst crying; it gives me a deep sense of satisfaction and warm surges of calming electricity shock my body when I contemplate what they'll say in the inscription written on the epitaph above my grave. In the fetal position I dream myself to sleep- peacefully- while thinking these things. Then I awake and masturbate.