Zombies, vampires, werewolves, and Frankenstein's
monsters, witches, mummies, banshees.

I'm afraid to go outside, so you might come along?
I'm afraid of the dark, but let's walk to the park.
All alone on a parkbench; it's getting late,
Such a shame we must part; now, I'll rip out your
heart.

I'm mortified, by the caustic premise of 'you
more than died,' by the holy chemist in his
fortified calloused palace when the
door is pried, I'll be inside.

For what I'm afraid of
a shield that's made of
narrators noting that nothing is nigh.

There's a guard with a gun
who's ready to draw at any time
at his post above the moat of continuous worry of siege--enemies!

There's a garden hosting the gunplay
as the drawbridge clanks timèdly
and this post-war scene’s a motif for your queen's magazines.

I'll bow and you'll curtsy
we'll joke we're unworthy
fake waltzing while laughing into
your earring endearingly
stepped-on toes, we'd go
home,
to step alone.