Who Killed Zachary Goetz?

Was it the barber?
The butcher?
The priest?
The baker?
The spinstress?
The tax collector?
The candlestick maker?
The pharmacist?
The gynecologist?
The cokeheads?
The cunts?



The home-wrecker?
The loony?
The editor?
Or the vixen? 

All likely suspects; 
Each wielding a weapon
That could have surely done him in.

The strange part is,
When the authorities found his body
There were no signs of physical injury: 
No stab or bullet wounds,
No bruises or marks indicating strangulation,
His flesh wasn’t discolored
He looked as he always did--
White as the moon
And skinny like a model

There was no blood shed,
No fingerprints, 
No breadcrumb-trails,
There were no traces of poison found in his system,
This wasn’t an acid trip gone wrong


The autopsy concluded that his heart had simply stopped beating.


The police found a diary next to his body,
The last entry before his death read:

“So what if you write beautiful letters?
Where does that get you if no one replies?”




Dead.








He didn’t kill himself.

But his affliction was self-inflicted,
Accidental, of course, 
But it tragically led to his own undoing:
He spent too much time chasing rainbows,
And baking cakes,
And trying to turn straw into gold,
Holding his breath, 
Making no sudden movements,
And waiting for a reply
That he forgot to live.