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.