This doesn't really have a title, but it's about how someone can be the center of the social whirl, yet no one really knows them and no one cares when they're gone.

Alas, poor Yorrick

I knew him, Horatio.

Yorrick, with the air that clung about him

kind of like

bong water and chocolate.

You got hungry just smelling him.

Yorrick, in the center of the room

Drunker than Bacchus

showing once again that the human skull can shatter glass

If you just put your head to it.

Yorrick in his boxers,

Pants forgotten in the rush

drooling onto his papers.

We used to laugh when they stuck

Yorrick, to think he would end up as a book end

Ironic, kind of.

It reminds me of a joke,

but I don’t think you’d get it.

Yorrick, telling that joke that always got a laugh

it really wasn’t funny. He said

Pussy though. And everyone would die.

So he’d say it again.

Yorrick, he had a bad start.

What kind of sick parent

Calls their kid Yorrick?

They could’ve named him Zeppo, would’ve been more dignified.

Yorrick, now he’s dead

And does anyone really care?

There’s more beer to go around

At parties now. No one complains.

Yorrick, I knew him Horatio

I lived in his room

Ate his food

Slept with his girlfriend, twice. He slept with mine so we were even.

I knew him, Horatio.

I have never met Yorrick.