On our date, I told you I was late,
Wheeling into the lot, waiting,
How could I be in love with substance,
Drugs, slow cadences, my heart, brigading,
My mind was limp, bent; the swaying palm tree,
Where was the wind? Die down, and stay still,
Figuring how I stayed on the road, manned a car,
Out of slur, my future tense would've been roadkill,
If I could see the future, craft it like clay,
Wondering how life can and will depict us,
A montage in the present, it's so sad,
Consoling the air is something near fictious,
Please, contain me within these four walls,
Shall not have ink, yet the most natural blood,
I'll do the forensics one favor, tracing me,
And finding love - narcotics like swimming drugs,
And yet, last but not least, cannot die on an empty stomach,
What fear must bring is the most procrastinated but steady drone,
I wonder if a man would choose to season the cold instruments that
are used for death, bland to my taste when deciding to eat chrome,
And they will find me, picking the very strings of my guitar,
Listen closely, only if you so dilligently choose to hear it,
I am opting to choose the first stanza, ringing out in my Nirvana,
The uphevel of notes sounds similar to "Smells Like Teen Spirt"
And to see you in this heaven, I think it's so beautiful,
I like serenading you in such slow and spacey dances,
So I leave this one song, to my one and only,
First born child by the lovely name of Frances,
Taking it back,
A man cannot bear it; pain,
What is the epiphany of higher learning?
An example: Mr. Kurt Cobain.
