The day I killed the cockroach

Why are you cockroach fighting for your life? Is it so dear to you? Is there something I don’t know? Like your squeaky legs are dancing and laughing at me while I contemplate you die. Maybe I am the monster and not you with a shiny skeleton and awful-like touch. As I lay your body onto the lid of my piano, I find myself wondering what song will suit your death better. I didn’t get enough time to ask you, maybe you would have preferred more up-beat tunes, but I must settle this strange musical eulogy with the only song I know how to play.

You see cockroach, my father never taught me how to play the black and white keys, and whilst his ghost hunts me down during the moistest summer nights, that same song plays. And as I reach my finger into the cold piano, I sing it for you. You try to turn around your shiny armor, but as hard to touch, it is hard to heal; and oh dear Death, she has come to you earlier than you ever expected. I then wonder in the middle of the G note what life had you expected to live. In that hell-like body and useless eyes, those skinny and cracking legs. Your only motive was to survive and so easily I took that from you.

I hope you can forgive me once for how much deeper I have hurt you. I wish I could send my condolences to your beloved family and therefore I write this note in hopes it might reach them. I guess in some time your karma will add up and maybe you’ll be playing the piano, your father will have taught you how to use it properly and maybe your caring heart will leave me live, the cockroach that hides under your wooden banister.

As I put you in the ground I say no words of sorrow, for I have not managed to craft them properly, and lying-in front of your unlive body feels unfit. Now that the soil of my garden covers you, I put you to rest and I look up to the eye when we will meet and better songs will be played.