AOWL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: pohfig (7-3) VS. ZeeDee (6-2)-- pohfig WINS 4-2

Pent uP · 05-27-2013, 09:58 PM

Hair of the Dog

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, still exists." —Phillip K. Dick

Everything was red - like when you're awake but your numb
and your eyes are closed but you're facing the sun.
You lie there with your head aching a ton
while managing the confined space in your lungs.
Your taste-buds are pushing up daisies and rum,
but you cant get rid of the flavor it sprung.
Your eyelids slowly stop hugging themselves
and the sun greets your temple with a bludgeon to help.
Focus is pulled to become a drum-skin that's stretched
as hollow hearts evolve beyond a "bumping effect."
Summer is met as the sky's blues are magnified
while pupils half their size from hues that stagger eyes.
A dizziness comes from the woozy-patterned sky
like things lightly reflected are dually sacrificed.
Movement might happen like you're flinching and twitching
before rolling in graves to get into the sitting position.
A lawn exposed with torture methods strange and passe
- your head pounded the same direction and way the grass sways.
The green color palpitates against your face in vast rays
and its existence alone elates the drab pain.
The weight just cascades pushing the earth and your sleep
of mud muddled from tears rubbing the dirt on your cheeks.
A proverbial groan that sounds like it merged with a squeal
is let out between a muttered prayer and a courteous plea.
Eyes searching the field find the sun shimmering
against your open bottle beside your unfinished drink.
That one glistening thing makes you wince at the sky;
forcing a reverse vertigo feeling of drifting inside.
The light blue comforts while bridging the sight
with tear sockets too dirt clogged and hindered to cry.
There's grit in your eye, and a timely memory,
blurring a vision of future with a myriad effigies.
A beetle sized lump jumping inside - impending speech
and allowing only whimpers to fly breathlessly.
Breezes that free skin but can dampen your gasps.
Chain tight vein lines along hands in a path
that lead to fatigue while you stand in the grass.
Mundane sun rays that's force you to grab for that glass.
Shattered, relaxed, nerves are swept with fear...
the warm drink becomes a working grenadier.
You slowly examine the dirt you slept on here
to see one outstanding German Shepard ear.
A glance at what you began the night prior,
as a gust thrusts your innards and expands your eyes wider.
- Experiencing a best friend being buried to rot
- both your sense of control and clarity lost...
Liquid courage rises as your lips cherish the sauce.
You'll end and start this the same way
- hair of the dog.

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05-27-2013, 09:58 PM	#7
Pent uP Robin Williams of Fallen Victims Join Date: Feb 2013 Posts: 1,499 Battle Record: 25-11 Accomplishments - NC Hall of Fame Champed - Netcees Writers League (2x) - NWL Season 1 - Write Night I - Art of Writing League (2x) - Write Week IV Rep Power: 6862275	Hair of the Dog "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, still exists." —Phillip K. Dick Everything was red - like when you're awake but your numb and your eyes are closed but you're facing the sun. You lie there with your head aching a ton while managing the confined space in your lungs. Your taste-buds are pushing up daisies and rum, but you cant get rid of the flavor it sprung. Your eyelids slowly stop hugging themselves and the sun greets your temple with a bludgeon to help. Focus is pulled to become a drum-skin that's stretched as hollow hearts evolve beyond a "bumping effect." Summer is met as the sky's blues are magnified while pupils half their size from hues that stagger eyes. A dizziness comes from the woozy-patterned sky like things lightly reflected are dually sacrificed. Movement might happen like you're flinching and twitching before rolling in graves to get into the sitting position. A lawn exposed with torture methods strange and passe - your head pounded the same direction and way the grass sways. The green color palpitates against your face in vast rays and its existence alone elates the drab pain. The weight just cascades pushing the earth and your sleep of mud muddled from tears rubbing the dirt on your cheeks. A proverbial groan that sounds like it merged with a squeal is let out between a muttered prayer and a courteous plea. Eyes searching the field find the sun shimmering against your open bottle beside your unfinished drink. That one glistening thing makes you wince at the sky; forcing a reverse vertigo feeling of drifting inside. The light blue comforts while bridging the sight with tear sockets too dirt clogged and hindered to cry. There's grit in your eye, and a timely memory, blurring a vision of future with a myriad effigies. A beetle sized lump jumping inside - impending speech and allowing only whimpers to fly breathlessly. Breezes that free skin but can dampen your gasps. Chain tight vein lines along hands in a path that lead to fatigue while you stand in the grass. Mundane sun rays that's force you to grab for that glass. Shattered, relaxed, nerves are swept with fear... the warm drink becomes a working grenadier. You slowly examine the dirt you slept on here to see one outstanding German Shepard ear. A glance at what you began the night prior, as a gust thrusts your innards and expands your eyes wider. - Experiencing a best friend being buried to rot - both your sense of control and clarity lost... Liquid courage rises as your lips cherish the sauce. You'll end and start this the same way - hair of the dog.