Her Sweater

I was oh so young and felt oh so old
a rebel looking for just the right place
to fit in
like
so

My grandpa warned me
that Satan’s voice hid backwards in my music
and each erection brought me
a mile closer to the lake of fire
but I didn’t care
I was ready to burn

And suddenly she was there
queen of queens, and
cheerleader of cheerleaders
all oval face and long straight hair
and me entranced with
the topography of her sweater.
and then we kissed, hard,
like our kisses could kill zombies

And I ruined it, oh yes I did
I tore it down with gusto

Now years later
encased in the weight
and the wait of middle age
where’s that young man
who is this bitter Frankenstein in my mirror
All flesh, dead and stolen

Look upon this, youngster, and despair
this grain of sand
used to be my beach.

But save your eulogies and bite your tongue
there is still blood in this statue
my dead heart still beats
and my ghost still
moves
   the
      dust.

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