Here's a poem I wrote this morning. I'm not sure where it came from. Can you pick the horror (ish) movie titles out of it?
I know what you did last summer, he'll say.
And I'll scream and run to my panic room.
It will be 28 days from hell
And he'll scream, too.
We'll stay up, like night of the living dead,
My jaws tiring from talking it out.
It will be the omen I've been looking for
With the eye that's full of twilight.
And I'll know it's the end of days.
I think there's 12 in there. I don't know why I wrote this...it's so lame.
Fine: be that way, Mr. Raccoon.
1 day ago