This is a first information report about a time that is coming out
Of a body that has aged
Reflux of last nights excesses.
Before they make a scene out of your memory
Decorate it with garish flowers of their off-tune tributes and blue and white lies of love-hackneyed lyrics
Before I add you to my pile of dead
You belong to all of us, the tributes will come pouring.
So this is what it feels like to lose a part of your childhood.
Chris Cornell wasnt bad enough,
But you-you began my journey
In my mind’s eye, youre immortal, invincible only like the past can be.
I thought you were permanance.
Childhood has to be.
But something is crumbling from underneath my feet, maybe because you killed yourself.
It is unsettling, to think all this while, after we changed our playlists, forgot your tracks, stuffed your lyrics behind clutter
You would reach through all of that, crack me up again.
I never realised this glue could give in.
You were the plaster that holds the cracked tectonic plates together on which my identity rest on.
All this time and its cracking.
The crust is cracking, flaking like a home made birthday cake
And my childhood hangs from a rope
In an obscene resseruction of the Messiah of an estranged generation of preteen angst and metal.
Your death brought back demons I had forgotten existed to life.
And a hollow jangles in the words that once made up our identity
How can our immortality commit suicide?