Just Like Heaven

You married him at a castle. You had Siouxsie hair at church. Your boy looked like Robert Smith. I used to look for you. It was 1988. I had long hair. I was trying to be a metal head. And then I saw Edward Scissorhands in the theater. And my heart was shattered. And then when I saw the two of you it mattered more. You shaved your head for the wedding. My dad was besides himself. I thought you were amazing. I can see your beautiful pale skin now. You wore a black wedding dress. It was the late 80’s. I grew my red Mohawk that hung to the side. I got called faggot everyday at school. You told me that you liked my hair. I’ve never forgotten. It meant everything to me. At school the punk girl with the hair in her face threw an upside down cross in my locker. I didn’t know how to love her. I hated church. I wanted to be driven around in a muscle car on fire. I hated sports. I hated everyone. I used to look for you at church. You said that you liked my punk hair. I’ve played and played drums. My mother told me the crushing news. You died of cancer. I think of you all the time. I can’t stop thinking of you. At first when I found out, it just went to some dark place that I used for information that was darkly vital. But I’ve never forgotten you. Your black wedding dress. Your gothness. So beautiful. I’ve been to Europe. I’ve toured the U.S. I think of you. I told you that I liked Peter Murphy too. I felt embarrassed. My kick drum was part of his “deep” tour. I kick the shit out of my kick drum. I make em all dance. Do you notice? Maybe you’re dancing somewhere. Just like heaven. I miss you. 

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