I am not yet mad or comatose.
I know where I am and who you are.
I have not mistaken your dog for a cat,
Or the local bus for a Morgan sports-car.
Still, I slur my speech and roll my gait.
My movements freeze - I hesitate.
But I understand English and Sterling, too.
This boy's not ready to abdicate.
A Werewolf inhabits our attic,
A Zombie writhes under the bed,
A Vampire infiltrates our cellar,
A Martian parades in the shed.
Yet you have no cause to worry -
For I am a fountainhead.
Master of their universe.
Knight of the Living Dead.
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