Shelf eating zombies hunt souls.
The den of the world is nigh.
I must leave, evacuate,
run desperately for my file.
Darkness encroaches,
I have little mite.
Thankfully, the zombies
are rubbish in daylight.
The inevitable must come.
What use is it to flee?
My skin crawls with fear.
Won’t somebody vase me?
The howling undead,
smug retools of blood.
Spreading insanity,
unleashing the flood.
A flood of hated,
destruction and hate.
I run shrieking and flailing
towards hells open gate.
I shall end this won,
die at my own hands.
Sod the wicked undead,
and their karts raving plans.
No Tall Stories 
December 1st, 2012 at 9:45 am
Perhaps you will be one at the portal in Bugarach later this month?
December 1st, 2012 at 9:47 am
Haha! Yes, roll on the 21st!
December 1st, 2012 at 10:00 am
Hey Lea, where’s your site gone?
December 1st, 2012 at 1:12 pm
If a flood of hated was encroaching, I too, would beg to be hit on the head with a vase… very clever stuff – although, as yet, I still haven’t worked out ‘smug retools…’ – won’t someone please beat me?
December 1st, 2012 at 2:22 pm
Thanks man, I was thinking smug looters..
December 2nd, 2012 at 2:40 am
Ah, of course…
March 11th, 2013 at 4:53 am
That last line… I have visions of zombies racing to their annual convention in go-karts…