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He had a timer set in his mind.
And it had 'self-des-truct' written on it.
Born into a happy home, he knew love.
Then the bad times came and tore it apart.
Passed around, he grew up like a stray.
A dysfunctional being. A lonely person.
He found his escape. his world
Sheltered by a bridge over his back.
Hidden by the muck. he was free.
Then things changed again.
People wouldn't let him rest.
He had spent so long not being a part of it
And all of a sudden he was King of it!
He destested the crowd that grew.
He mocked them in his words.
Dumb he called them. Indifferent.
Stereotypical. Nature at it's worst.
His fortune was his end.
He was no longer leader of socail outcasts.
He was the leader of the in-crowd.
He was the leader of what he hated
And no longer wanted to be apart of.
So he used the end to set him free.
Tortured and tender poet.
In the minoritys mind he will be remembered as he was.
In the majoritys mind he will be remembered as
Kurt Cobain, guitar hero, singer of Nirvana.
The majority expected things of him;
The minority cherished what he produced.
L. R. Edson ©1999
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