My Neighborhood is a funny scary poem about a street that is filled with psychos, mental patients, serial killers and weirdos. It was inspired by an old song by Space called In My Neighborhood and you might notice some similarities.
It’s funny how quickly my neighborhood changed
Now, all of my neighbors are crazed and deranged.
My street grows crazier with each passing minute.
There’s just too many psychos and nutcases in it.
There’s a man in number 4 with a very dark side
He threw a Halloween party and served cyanide.
Everyone knows he’s an obsessive fanatic
He keeps the girl of his dreams tied up in his attic.
The old lady in number 2 believes she’s covered in bugs
Which is probably because she’s taken so many drugs.
She often paints pictures of puppies and clowns
And moldering corpses in white wedding gowns.
In 10 there was a musician who played the guitar
He spent his days stalking several Hollywood stars
At night, he sang songs and used to make quite a racket
Till they took him away in a tight white straight-jacket.
The man in number 26 developed schizophrenia
He buried his wife underneath the gardenias.
When you meet him by day he’s polite Mr Miller
But if you meet him at night, he’s a serial killer.
The man in number 6 suffered panic attacks
Until he chopped up some kids with a big bloody axe.
Now the doctors keep him under close observation
Every time he escapes, there’s a new decapitation.
In 25, there’s a guy who’s skinny and lean
He’s taller than Slenderman and he’s twice as mean.
Lately he’s becoming increasingly unglued
And has paranoid nightmares in which he’s always pursued.
The boy in number 12 is a nutty fruitcake
Every girl that he dates ends up in the lake.
Sometimes he can be such a mean little punk
He keeps his mom in the freezer and his dad in a trunk.
In number 16 is where a pyromaniac lurks
And every so often, he goes completely beserk
Sometimes when he snaps out of one of his dazes
He swears he can’t remember setting all of those blazes.
The man in 21 has a strange mental condition
He’s got a new job as the local mortician.
He enjoys it and says he loves all the splatter
Needless to say, he’s as mad as a hatter.
I’d like to submit this poem in honor of my father, James Howard Stewart, who has passed away… this poem was published, along with others, in his high school paper… this one I memorized, by heart, when I was only a child…
My girl and I decided to take a walk,
Just for some air and maybe to talk.
We wandered aimlessly into the night,
Never to expect the soon coming fright.
We soon had wandered to the edge of town,
To a spot known as the burial grounds.
A place so feared and often said,
To contain within, the walking dead.
In the moonlight the tombstones shone bright,
Causing me to hold my girl tight.
The damp air cut, through to the bone,
Making me wish that I had stayed home.
Suddenly, near us, we heard a moan,
That chilled the heart with it’s ghastly tone.
And IT appeared from a nearby tree,
With arms outstretched, reaching for me.
Because my soul was filled with such dread,
At the sight of IT, the walking dead,
I lost my senses and quickly ran.
Leaving behind, my poor girl Jan.
From her lips she screamed my name,
Her voice was high, showing great pain.
In the night’s silence I heard Jan crushed,
And quickly to her I began to rush.
Within me now, my courage grew fresh,
Taking me to, but a pile of flesh.
My girl was now far beyond dead.
From her shoulders she now missed a head.
For years now my story’s been told,
I’ve grown gray, bent and old.
But I’ll never forget the night that I ran,
Leaving behind, my one love, Jan.
It’s like a Cannibal Corpse song
If that was my neighbourhood I would just leave and move to the other side of the country
Aww such a great home and as I was reading it, it was sounding familiar..