Thoughts on Cobain

Throughout his life he built the walls And school for the arts A large dead dog lying by the fence Red coloured pickets As he was limited and soon to die How it all went wrong Wrong wrong wrong Personally enjoy the melting scum The scum seeping from the gun The gun that rots His brains There On the wall. Sabbath He loved sabbath Claustrophobic All half finished poems Disintegrated sheaths He was swept under rugs, collecting dust A golden boy who looked at the floor Into the floor Through the floor To the other world

© 2019 james parm. all rights reserved.

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