Tuesday, February 07, 2017

inarticulate


he wrote about a flaming furious moon
and angels with happy cruel streaks
he wrote about eternity gone too soon
and birds with fangs inside their beaks
he wrote about black childhood fears
and about sparkly-neon outer space
he wrote about dead men’s dried up tears
and living heroes sipping on disgrace
he wrote about epics in unknown tongues
and about feelings never ever felt before
he wrote about gods with human lungs
and about nothing behind a closed door
he wrote about peace raring for a fight
and how perverted horror could be art
he wrote when all he wanted to write
was about his fucking aching heart.

ram cobain


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