Cobain

Where vibrant eyes turn to the palest white
and red lips lose their noble fight
to keep the steady flow of breath
from fading into shallow depths.

Where lies become the only truth
and belief is won without any proof.
Where burning veins with synthetic joy
is the simplest way to stay adjoined
to whatever this is.

Where the putrid stench of fake esteem
mingles with the bitter taste of a weak regime.
Where the little blue pills fall down the drain
and with them, the fragile haze is washed away.

Now the shapes begin to form,
hideous faces ready to swarm,
filthy hands clawing for more,
and no way to give them what they're begging for.

There's nothing left here in this place,
where hope once lived but is now defaced,
where the last song was sung passionately
with a mournful voice to praise its rhapsody.

So long to the beggars, the swindlers, and the frauds.
The ones whose teeth have ripped and gnawed
and torn away the last facade
of an art once loved but now is flawed.

Goodbye to the ones who have kept their faith
in the gods they've loved now turned to wraiths.
The price of peace is steep these days,
while the price of debauchery is minimum wage.

Farewell to the lovers who remain entangled,
to the youth who have yet to surpass the brilliant preamble,
to the optimists who haven't lost their way,
yours are the hearts that will remain undismayed.