please

night gives up to blue skies gay
but still the monsters won’t go away.

ram cobain

promises

the inkpot uneasy, quietly stirred
as the lover wrote a false word

ram cobain

the edge

the barber picks up his trusted blade
like a man in another trade
he looks long at the gleaming steel
but his is a slip of destiny’s wheel
so he gently dips the tip in water
and merely dreams of scarlet slaughter

ram cobain