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Fright Blight

Epic fall day out here this morning. Perfect temperature, leaves are doing that thing, squirrels are getting frisky with their nuts, wind is “wind-ing”… what more can a rascal of ill-repute aspire to on some random Monday?

I’m still slightly nursing a days-long headache here as my brain continues to mirror the temperature and its shifty aberrance. Is the concept of aberrance shifty by definition? If so, my apologies for the redundant script. Granted this entire exercise could be summed up thusly… 🙂

Point being, we’re forgoing the sub-par commentary and moving directly into the generally-mediocre word-rhymes.

Still a bit early for Halloween novelties, outside of grocery stores anyway, but its primary concept, fear, was the basis upon which this piece was built. As often occurs, it got away from me a bit and slants more towards the comedic, however, initially really was meant as a case study in terror. I’ll try again perhaps hitting that vein another day. For now you’re forced to wallow in my tepid humors. Sorry about that!


“Fright-Blight”, Sept 23, 2018

You’d be surprised how little fear

Is needed for your path to veer

In altered light the most benign

Send jolting horror up your spine

Just a fractured second’s twinkle’s

Fine to crack cavernous wrinkles

Solution to terror’s caress

Never allow it to abscess

Stand down your frights, don’t turn and run

Unless it’s sharks or spiders, son.


Let’s be real here, sharks and spiders are petrifying. Anyone who says otherwise is lacking  either common sense or honesty. Or isn’t a gigantic pussy. Almost certainly one of those three though.

The central theme of the poem actually remained static. Laughter aside, running from your fear is like running from an angry dog, it’s going to chase you down, biting at your heels until potentially doing some real damage. Fake it if you have to, god knows I’ve done it enough times, but don’t run. You are only delaying the inevitable while simultaneously doing yourself harm. Let’s step up our courage game y’all!

-Alex Blaikie

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Categories: poetry writing

Tagged as:

dreadpoetssobriety

A broken mind held together by cellophane and some tack.

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