fear and loathing

show me your best fears and loathings as well as mournings and hatered please no raceisum or anything like that contest will be short winner will be picked by me and my girlfriend also for a fun twist it must be about clothing in some way shape or form in at least 1 stanza others can be what ever you like olny 1 entrey per poet and collabrations welcome as well as trios but nothing more than trios

A coat, a bloody blanket
On my unwearied shoulders
That to the untrained eye
Of a simple beholder
Could be mistaken for
The fears I hide
Or my sins which they do not know
I hold aloft with pride.

The cloth shadow that clings
To my chest and arms bears not
A resemblance to any fear of mine
But instead the fears of others left on me to rot.
I have no fear of the underbed monster,
The eyes in the dark or a satan.
But instead I carry and pass them on
To whoever is willing to take them.

No, I am not a person who simply dresses black,
I am the keeper of the fears, so it's best to watch your back.

3 more days to get your entries in

The dress slips down my waist,
And my breath hitches in response.
Holding my blade so close
I only fear the cost.

The fear of the stories they leave behind,
Each scar a reminder.
Of what I've done wrong,
Each acting like a timer.

I'm afraid I've ran out,
Of time, love, and affection.
My deepest fear, has come alive,
As seen in my reflection.

So I spilled the contents of my veins,
I want to embrace my fears.
I find peace, at last,
In each salty, wasted tear.

False Horizontal
You know, when your'e vertical, nothing and no one
                                         can stop you.
                                       When faith has
                                  been restored, your'e just
                             a lanky straight line going up
                           and down.
Veritcal will never correlate with The Between.
                                         Steep hills are your
                                            best friends.
                                      Because their deep comings
                                    are symbols that have nothing
else to believe in, but me.
                           You sick false horizontal
                            the heavens are no
                              where near; not in
                          that vast space of yours.
   Her flesh is the illusion of pink and
   orange whirlpools. Bright colors of true
                darkness.
 
There's a Water World beyond
this dimension.
I believe the vertical in me
is connected there.
Swift moves,
swims and fins...now i remember
I used to shed glass only to find out I was the debris
A skeleton chase will come, people
Spear those tears
Why don't you just live your life?
 
I knew from Three: Three is The Change, many people don't get there.
that youth is old when creased tenfold.
                               There's a swing for every god
                               Mediums become The Between
                               where swings
                               don't swing anymore and oscillation becomes Wonder.
                                  Wonder.
                             It's just a picture of odyssey. Everyone is just, just drowning in it!
                                  But they don't realize that,
because they don't see the frame.
                              Horizontal makes sure of taht, leaving them stand in a tight circle around the equator of existence where visuals seem
                             like truth, but they only blind.
The truth ascends and descends,
                         vertical kills
                          the belt and
                           then: whoosh!
                You see everything around you.
So clear.
Unsmeared.
Though, they say a picture is worth a thousand words.
 
I say it's all a bunch of tiny circles.
   Just like The Between where swings just stand.
      and every god is just a part of a huge
               unseeing diagram.
Question is: Who will you call when your'e
 screaming in the dark somewhere? Somewhere
     screaming your last scream?
 
 
Because when you see death up close.
Just look.
The value of life is a picture.
 
A picture worth a million fucking dots.

“Kings of the Strip”
http://www.jesseshapiro.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/sunset-junction-2010-speedos.jpg
It’s a scary meat market out here, we hate it,
we loath ourselves for lowering to this level.
It’s pure hell, but we get paid well,
covers the bills and everybody
wants cheap thrills.
Showcasing ourselves,
hung like a horses
we parade around like the derby.
Crystalline sands as far
as the eye can see,
burning our feet,
we dance around
as if in heat,
a comedy in
G-strings, we’re
the Speedo Kings.

A CHARACTER POEM ABOUT FEAR and LOATHING.

[judgement]

and lo, i hold out my arm
and lo, the sleeve is drawn up.

the only way i'm surviving this
is a bitter face
a shot of vodka in my stomach
and sarcasm

and lo and behold -
the face of disgust.
my old friend.
i'm sorry you had to see that

i will do better
next time.

[font=Verdana][font=Verdana]
nights
are endless
as a child
fresh minds
never unwind
energy races
til sandman finds

not shackled by
experience
or responsibility
my thoughts
would roam from
squid filled depths
to dizzying heights

what about
my bedside?
mattress inches
from wall
in dimmest light
I`d slip my hand
through that space
shake in dread
anticipate
possible contact
with another grasp
from some hideous
alien race

after every dark
I`d take that dare
amid visceral warnings
my guts would beg
not to venture
in-between there
knowing if I touched
something alive
I`d die on the spot
of heart-attack
at the age of five

each bedtime
my extremity
in would slide
despite belief
in death threat
from fright
at that young age
I knew deep
deep inside
once wrapped
in safety blanket
there`s nowhere else
to hide
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-du0Ko_3gKjg/TtFPBNTX_tI/AAAAAAAACEU/pkXS9rUxgAY/s1600/the+oily+menace+img+copy.jpg

Loathing




My loathing falls heavy
across the eyes of the unseeing
I pluck them out as they bleed
~Stupid~
was never engaged on my part



Don't try to blink on my abstract
it is my creation not your glory
Thief of anything you can steal
often slipping on the residue of lies



Backbone crumbles underneath a stutter
just not clever enough
a tongue so twisted it lost its way
Let me pull that shabby cloth from under you
and fuck up your world



Time to unzip that coat and step outside
because I loathe the fake character you portray
and the lies that spill like a black waterfall



Let me turn off the tap so you can dry up
and crack wide open
I want to see your insides fall out
just so everyone can see who you really are.

You're An  *Asterix*  With Coned Attire  


Did you think
I didn't know
you basilisk
you're no bro
just an asterix
in print studded show .


Puppets dangle
procariously
I'm no muppet entangled
who cannot see
acute is my angle
that bends your tree
re-shoot the handgun
you can't kill me
futile is the anger
of wannabes
now pick the pasture
or extremity
being the place I'll cast you
out , to be buried .


Your coned head attire
makes you prone
to my fire
this zone I control
just walk the wire .