Baby, This Ain’t Elm Street
In this dream,
I’m in Nancy Thompson’s pajamas
climbing a drain pipe
toward safety
My best friend’s window
is barred
& she doesn’t live there
anymore but her sticky
glow in the dark stars
have stayed put
In this world,
I have the desire to make it,
to claw my way
across mattresses myself
I plunge the ice pick
into my monsters
& don’t feel any guilt
about it
In real life, I’m bleeding out
in my best friend’s driveway
while she screams & lets
the bad man get away
I don’t go looking on this side
of things, I don’t go chasing
anyone, and revenge is a
foreign concept
We keep quiet about
what we tell each other
while the rest of the slumber
party is asleep
We’re the same, she & I,
with murdered tongues
We’re the undeserving,
wounded & weeping ones
We’re the backstory kills
when the gore is sprayed & done
Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay
Thistle Thoughts 
This was an amazing piece, thank you. Dark, compelling, and brings back memories.
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Thanks for reading!
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Great show of contrast and connection between dreams and waking life.
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Thanks, Beth
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I felt as if three candles (dream, world, real life) were on a table, and the smoke from them intertwined and formed this poem. Fantastical to be inside and out of a horror story.
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Thank you. Your assessment is pretty spot on.
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A touching and nightmarish poem, which is a potent mix of dream and reality! Love the narrative and the imagery!
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Thanks, Dominic
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Welcome Jennifer.
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A amazing tale dear Jennifer.
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Thank you!
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You are welcome dear Jennifer.
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Great piece.
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thank you!
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