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Mister Cobain.
Twenty-seven years of hate.
Twenty-seven years of shame.
Twenty-seven years of abuse.
It was his time to choose.
Twenty-seven moths of touring.
Life was so predictable and boring.
Twenty-seven months of physical pain.
Twenty-seven days. . .
Twenty-seven days until the end.
[[March tenth]]
Twenty-seven hours he was missing.
Twenty-seven hours after he stopped singing.
Twenty-seven minutes to go.
Beautiful heroine tears washed his face.
Washed away the sin.
Washed away the hurt.
Washed away the shame.
Twenty-seven seconds to decide.
Twenty-seven seconds didn't hurt his pride.
The trigger was pulled. . .
Twenty-seven seconds after he made up his mind.
Twenty-seven years haven't passed.
Only fifteen so far.
April 5th is the mark.
"I love you, I love you."