Electric gadgets in the
home,
I switch them off.
In the dark I sit
alone.
I think of things and
scare myself,
I put the book back on
the shelf.
No more Stephen King.
Is that the wind or a
banshee calling?
There is something out
in the garden.
My skin is crawling.
I look out and find,
My neighbour’s cat
wailing.
No more Hammer videos.
I haven’t got the
nerves for horror,
My stomach’s made of
jelly.
All these monsters,
ghosts and gore,
Perhaps it’s me, am I a
bore?
No more tales of blood
and woe.
I just can’t take it
anymore.
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