Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for language.
You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what happened after you left. You didn’t know what was happening to you while you stayed your temporary stay. You were young and full of life. You took pleasure in all these things which didn’t make sense to anyone.
No one could understand your ways. Sometimes not even you. Everyone tried to know you but they couldn’t. you wanted them to hear you but your scream got lost in the harsh weather and they mistook it for something else. You were beautiful. You knew that. You didn’t care about it. You didn’t think it matters anymore but it does. You were an angel sent from a dark dark place, way outside this planet. You shook life and touched a lot of people.
You were loved but their love couldn’t touch you. You did that to yourself in you self-righteous ways. You fucked up pretty bad.
You wanted to be heard. But no one could hear your voice no matter how much you screamed. You screamed. You screamed. You cried. You set yourself on fire. Yours was a mind which couldn’t be touched. You were scared and alone. You could see and hear everything and everyone. But you were never a part of it. It was all just an illusion for you. Your greatness is one which shines as bright as Mapplethorpe’s flowers in the dark. There is no place for angels like you in this pollution.
They could all see what you were doing to yourself. They could all see your shine which shined so bright. But they couldn’t do anything. They didn’t know what to do.
You’re purity. Your art is an end in itself. You were its master and no one could wield it the way you could. You took your art along with you.
You never really died. You’re immortal. Was that what you wanted? To burn out instead of fading away? Well you accomplished it.
You were just a child who was stuck in his dark world. You kept digging your soul for you art. You lived for art and you died for art. Somewhere along the process your life became art.
How could you shelter the purity of your art which was also your soul from the pests who kept tormenting you? You didn’t realise that one pest lived inside you. That pest eventually murdered you and you let it. You stopped fighting it and just let it do what you thought was the right thing.
Was it the right thing? What about you kid? Your wife? Words fail me when I think of describing you for your greatness is diverse and I might disrespect you by doing so.
Your art made you seem like the right way to leave this place. To live like an artist and to leave like an artist. But you were just a child.
I carry your sadness along with million other people. It is fucked up but I admit that it will always be a part of me.
I love you. Thank you.
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125,013 Literary Works • 672,842 Reviews
Hey there! How about a review on this lovely review day?
The emotion in this was very well written- I believe that's your strongest point in this. I felt very guilty while reading this, for whatever reason, as if it was my fault- which makes sense, you were writing in second person.
You repeat that he had an artistic death a lot. Maybe not, but it just seems like the last half of this work was mostly repeating itself- all the talk of art, that is. I mean that's fine; he was an artist, that's what you're going to remember him by. But I don't think you once mentioned in here that he was a singer? I have to admit I didn't know who this was, so I wasn't sure what kind of artist he was, exactly, and I certainly remained in the dark until I googled him. My point is, I think you could use his singing as a way to describe some of the things you did as him being an artist; just to shake it up a little.
The other thing I found interesting is that you chose to put this under Article/Essay. But this wasn't exactly an article, or an essay; I didn't really learn anything- I did learn some of your deep opinions on this young singer's life. But I think this piece would fit better under... Art, perhaps? Haha- not quite. But something more creative then essay.
Anyway, I hope you keep it up!
-Socks
Hello! Elysium here with a review.
I am a fan of Kurt Cobain, and I liked this piece. It's wasn't the best, yet it wasn't the worst either. There was just one thing that I saw.
You constantly put "you, you, you" throughout the whole entire thing. You didn't describe very much of how you think of Kurt. I want to know how you feel about him, not only about what he did. I find that writers do that a lot when they write tributes to people.
In this whole part you wrote, it slightly sounds like you are scolding him just because he commit suicide. Yes, it is sad when one commits suicide, but it isn't their fault because of what happened. He couldn't control what went on. It was his very sad and disappointing choice to kill himself though.
Other than that, I really adored this. Not because I am a fan, but because the way you said everything somewhat creatively and in a lovely way. Without that, this whole thing would really be nothing.
I do want to see more of your works like these. Don't give up and always write!
-Elysium
Hey Kashyap5!
My name is Illa. As a Kurt Cobain fan myself, I feel very affected by this piece. As such, my review may not seem effectively objectionable.
Firstly, your writing in this piece is beautiful. There is a beautiful sense of pathos to this piece, particularly in the pattern of words. There is a passion, a plea, an understanding in your tone that shows your admiration for such an amazing grunge legend.
This piece was very beautiful to read. I imagine it would work very well as a spoken-word poem.