STP

I grew up on Stone Temple Pilots and when Scott Weiland died a few years ago, it made me sad. He, obviously, had a troubled life and couldn’t conquer addiction. I loved their music and he had a great voice. I had an idea for a tribute poem; it may be trite, but it sums up my 20s with titles and lyrics from STP.


Creep along the interstate
Love song plays when I show up late

And I feel it–empty inside
This sour girl is Lonesome’s bride

Though my scarred-up heart still remains
Days of the week in tight-gripped reins

And so I know, and so it goes
Plush is the place where shallow grows

The dogs do find me, Smell on the street
Make my way to collapse at your feet

And as I lay my troubled head
Vasoline on plain, white bread

RIP S.

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