The Epitaph

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rcsi1's avatar

Literature Text

It would be a lie to say that it came as a surprise to me
Even in death, I feel the vibrations of the feedback coursing through me whenever I remember the life I left behind.
The feeling of the cold razor-like steel eating into the rough calluses of my fingers is one I will never forget. It was my only friend for a while.
Up until the bloodier addiction took its place
Up until the deadlier addiction took its place
The steel still cut through me, but blood was produced in the place of music

Of course I knew that signing the contract would be the death of me
The death of Three Parts Suicide
The death of any sanity that I held within the confines of the heart I so often wore on my sleeve and in the dying words of my lyrics.
And even as their spirits lived on, they were trapped.
If only by the marketing of their captors

They wanted me to respond to the demands of an intangible public that up until late into my life I had been a spirited part of.
As I stared into the eyes of the royalty who I swore I would never become, I felt as if I was staring into a mirror that warped my features until they were no longer mine.
It was as if Three Parts Suicide had become only 2 ½
That was when I decided to shed the armor of kings and reduce the number to 2.

The last show ended with ghostly applause and a demand for something more that proved to be its exorcist.
I found that my connection with these ghosts was slowly waning and became desperate to rejoin them in their innocent world of independence.
The hotel room proved to be the easiest launch pad for the journey so it was there that I traveled to their world.
The press knew within an hour.

As my own lyrics proved to be the death of me I shall leave you with a cliché,
“Money can’t buy happiness”

Hayden “Hellfire” Burns
Lead vocalist/guitarist, Three Parts Suicide.
It's Better to burn out than to fade away

--Neil Young (quoted by Kurt Cobain in his suicide note)

The book "Spoon River Anthology" by Edgar Lee Masters is a book of poems written by fictional people from beyond the grave. Some explain how they died, some don't.

I tried something similar with this poem. At the time, I had just found inspiration in an article about Nirvana I had read in a magazine. (Hayden Burns is a fictional interpretation of Kurt Cobain.) It might be hard to understand for some.

This is the first time that I've ever posted poetry so comments and critiques are encouraged.

Thanks :D
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