I’m broken down,
but I can still bend.
I’m listening
to words you rescind.
The teardrops in the drain
are hardly a downpour.
The fickle fall of rain
is hardly a clean source.
When the head gasket’s blown
take a torch to the engine.
I’ll stick around,
a rodent on your back porch,
and watch the flames of your suffering.
Anger is a gas can without end.
Check the DSM manual while
I caulk the wipers
to keep fighting for you,
patch the crack in the windshield,
keep fighting for you,
the extra miles drove on fumes
fighting for you,
riding the clutch
for you,
jumpstarting
you.
d’Verse Poet’s Pub | Happy Birthday, Kurt Cobain
Cover Art: Anthony Lebedev





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