The Paraparanormal
A poem about the unconventionally supernatural
Derek Dun. That's his name. Not Dracula. Not Lestat.
In human form - sometimes a squirrel (he can't turn into a bat).
Dangerous in the daytime - proper sun worshiper is our Del.
He's more "friendly face in an airport queue" than an immortal spawn of Hell.
Shame. He's got potential. He comes equipped with that fatal bite.
Granted, it's blunt. No fangs. Takes longer. They've died of boredom by the end of the night.
Not that he minds - because he's allergic to blood. Bloody adores garlic, though.
With a reflection and beloved at church. He sucks as far as vampires go.
About the Creator
em
I’m a writer, a storyteller, a lunatic. I imagine in a parallel universe I might be a caricaturist or a botanist or somewhere asleep on the moon — but here, I am a writer, turning moments into multiverses and making homes out of them.
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