Heathers Animations
Are you surprised?
Well, so am I.
I didn’t expect you.
Don’t open strange doors.
Now, go away.
Meow.
strange
A POEM WRITTEN FOR ME! by KENNY MCPHEE — “SPOOKY SUSANNE”
I’m surprised and honored to have a poem written for me by fellow poet, Kenny McPhee. Most of my poetry is on the spooky side. I began writing poetry as a way to showcase my book. Soon I found I love to write poems. I’ve added nature and inspiration to my repertoire, but I’m basically a creepy poet.
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SPOOKY SUSANNE You enjoy a walk on the dark side, susanne Nobody true, they say, but once in a while
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DARK HUMOR
How can this be real?
I don’t know what I feel.
He’s a demon to me,
who won’t set me free.
THE DEAD GAME
STEP INSIDE
Source:twopigment
The day is dying.
My heart is lying.
Do I care
if you’re here?
You can step inside.
I’ve nothing to hide.
The shades are shut
inside my hut.
I hide at day.
Nighttimes I play.
Come & step inside.
I’ve nothing to hide.
PUPPET
areyou-stillawake
Puppet Master 2 (1991)
I wake from a deep sleep.
I look across the room.
To a shelf high up.
A puppet sits there.
Its head pops up.
The head spins around.
It can’t be real.
A wooden puppet can’t be alive.
Then it speaks.
In a deep voice.
“Time to play,” it says.
I run to the door.
No!
It’s standing before me.
Taller than me.
Arms reaching for me.
A gleam in its black eyes.
It can’t be.
But it is.
It’s alive.
GUESS WHO?
Guess who?
It’s me, honey.
I’ve had a hard day at work.
It has made me grumpy.
I feel changed.
Different.
Do my hands feel furry?
They look furry to me.
All of a sudden I’m hungry.
Hungry for you, my darling.
Come, dance with me.
The night holds mystery for us.
Come with me…
ALIENATED
Mars Attacks! (1996)
Some days I feel alienated
from the people around me.
They talk and walk like me,
but their words are strange.
Resembling thoughts of a different tongue,
the humor of a separate species.
Loving everything Kardashian.
Clothes made from the same cloth,
clones made from the lowest elements.
What happened to individuality?
What happened to modesty and charm?
It’s lost to our race.
Lost in the wake of selfies.
