Old Tom Sawyer, Cynic

The point of faking your own death
Is to attend your funeral
And get to hear one or two fools
Strive, honestly, to extol you

And all your endless foolishness.
It's a crime, like stealing crown jewels,
Because all want badly enough
To live with guilt to wear the crown,

But it's so delectable, too,
To fantasize what might be said
In favor of miserable you.
I knew of one such who, stupid,

Faked his death to pay his bills, then
Found himself locked in the attic
Listening to memorials
Floating up, tear-filled, from below.

He got caught. He claimed the worst part
Was realizing how much he,
Miserable loser and sinner,
Meant to those who, sorrowfully,

Eulogized him as a winner.
Sucker! Prison is not enough
For thee. The world will weep and weep,
But for itself, effortlessly.