Pursues pure-blooded people
In the night.
Drains them dry
With a bite.
Sun shimmers, he sleeps
In a box
His nefarious nightmare
Is the cross.
Put together from parts
Of dead men.
Slimy skin sustains
Reanimation.
His father forsakes him.
Ran away.
He was gentle, childlike
Burned anyway.
Near at night,
In dreams.
Reality becomes surreal,
It seems.
His skin steaming,
In heat.
He will forever haunt,
Elm Street.
His marvelous mommy lost
Her head.
Now the treacherous teenagers
Are dead.
He hides his harmful hate
With a mask.
Murders with his machete,
Just a task.
He’s the worst one of all,
A big deal
The only one on this list,
Who is real
Could be any of us
Bob, Jim, John, Jerome
Courts your children,
And takes them home.
About the Creator
Jason Pitts
I am 39 years old and live in Arkansas. I have a degree in Radio, TV, and Film. I'm married to a wonderful wife and I have 2 amazing kids.
I have worked for many news/entertainment online publications, such as Liner Notes and AEB
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