There’s obviously a bit of imagination used for this poem, but this is based on the actual events on this date with Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.
August 18th ‘92
They told me what happened,
I was barely alive; hardly there.
She found me, curled under the sheets
wishing the world away.
“Fuck you,” she screamed
and dragged me through the clinic,
the squeaking wheels of our IVs
trailing from our arms.
Her stomach was bursting with our baby –
mine empty, sunken, and detoxed.
I could feel her fingernails
clawing through my palm
as her agony filled the room.
I only heard the shallow clicking of my breath.
While she pushed and panted
she reached across the bed to rub my stomach
while I vomited air
and passed out when she gave birth.
So this was the beginning
of my junkie fatherhood.
Of course, I escaped; got high
and came back with a gun.