When you were four years old, you thought monsters came out at night.
You wanted to go indoors before it got dark because of your fright.
That was cute when you were four.
But you're 37, it isn't cute anymore.
You think that a vampire...
or werewolf will bite you and you will be undead.
You believe in Frankenstein's monster and that he has green skin and a flat head.
You still go indoors before it gets dark because you think monsters are real.
You believe that zombies will eat your brain, you think that you'll be killed.
Get a hold of yourself, even your five year old son is laughing at you.
When it comes to monsters existing, even he knows that it isn't true.
Oh no, I hear my mother-in-law yelling, monsters are real after all, I guess I was wrong.
She could put the fear of God in Dracula and she sure is ugly when she wears a thong.
If you had a mother-in-law like mine, you would have good reason to feel fear.
I always stay plastered by drinking moonshine when my mother-in-law is near.
But I can assure you that my mother-in-law is the only monster that is real.
I need to borrow somebody's rifle because I have a grotesque monster to kill.
(This poem was inspired by my cousin who really did believe in monsters at the age of four.)