Self-Portrait as Kurt Cobain’s Suicide Weapon

My Eye clicked shut – a sleeping Verb –

In Nightmares – till the Day

My Owner wept – objectified –

And blew his Self away –

And now We waltz through empty Rooms –

And now We haunt the floors –

And every time I kick my Heel

He dies a little more –

And when He cries, such piercing shriek

As from His belly grows –

It is as a Poltergeist

Had let its Will be known –

And when at Dawn – our long Night’s end –

We shuffle into bed –

Tis better to nuzzle the Neck of a Gun –

Than walk the Lane of the Dead –

To friend of His – I’m friendly fire –

None need be afraid – I’m sure –

It’s that which eats His Soul – alive –

For which there is no cure –

Though I than He – near deathless be –

He nearer –

Death – than I –

For He is but a Soul to kill –

Without a –

Soul to die –