A Poem By Hannah W. // 10/25/2011

When I was younger, there was a vampire
his red eyes could see through walls
he had long fangs and ink-black hair
and we locked him up in the hall.

Then I got older, and I didn't believe
in vampires anymore
but I still saw bloodshot eyes
watching me from behind closed doors.

One day he said, "what a pretty thing
you are, and would be for a feast..."

I, the seventh child, born on a Saturday,
instead chose to kill the beast.


Hmm, interesting and quite

Hmm, interesting and quite creepy!

E | Wed, 10/26/2011

"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond

REAL vampires. *shudder* I'm

REAL vampires. *shudder*

I'm curious about what the first half of the last stanza means.

Anna | Wed, 10/26/2011

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

seventh child, born on a Saturday...

In ye olden times, if you were born the seventh child, you would be considered particularly susceptible to becoming a vampire. But if you were born on Saturday, you'd allegedly make a great vampire hunter.

Hannah W. | Wed, 10/26/2011


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