What Fears Become from The Horror Zine

Introducing the NEW Horror Zine book HERE!

Featuring the work of dead beat poet

Published by Imajin Books


From horror masterminds Bentley Little, Ramsey Campbell, Graham Masterton, Joe R. Lansdale, Elizabeth Massie, Piers Anthony, Melanie Tem, Cheryl Kaye Tardif, Scott Nicholson, Conrad Williams, Simon Clark and a host of other respected authors, poets and artists comes WHAT FEARS BECOME, a terrifying collection of bone-chilling, nail-biting horror that is sure to keep you awake until all hours of the night.

This anthology brings together some of the best works from The Horror Zine, an online magazine dedicated to giving you chills and thrills. Edited by Jeani Rector, each story, poem and art work within showcases an international talent that will give you shivers.

Featuring three poems by dead beat poet [b.a.d].

Published by Imajin Books

"Each spine-tingling chiller takes the reader into the depths of eerie imaginations!" ―Fangoria

Bad Friend Experience

You boo when there is a supoprtive cheer
you smile and nod nicely to my face
you pleasantly disagree with things dear
you bet against me and then rig the race
you grin but when i’m not looking it’s a sneer.

You laugh when i stumble with persistance
you frown when i am happy and succeed
you clap for long uncomfortable silence
you give bad advise when there is no need
I can’t stand the ‘Your Friend’ experience.

Dualistic Dynamic Duo

Sometimes i feel like the logical Mr. Spock
sometimes i’m like Captain James T. Kirk
a calibrated clock, does more than go tick tock
Relativistic synergy is part of the cirque.

Sometimes i feel like Gilligan the first mate
sometimes i’m like the Skipper in charge of you
governing operational dynamics, aren’t ever late
Aetherspheric navigation with a smart & small crew.

Sometimes i feel like the mysterious Mr. Roark
sometimes i’m like the vanishing little lost Tattoo
to get what you want now, give it some more torque
Quantumetric differences bond both me and you.

                                         

Crooked Clarity Compass

Social fabrication is denial
commitment to what is reality
vision creates a cognitive fusion
knowledge comes from dualistic da da
the crooked compass shows us the right way
open to what is next and not their next
blur is an example of time travel
three components make relativity
declaration of what is and isn’t
clarity eliminates neg bias.

Ultimate Oral Sustenance

Oral self indulgence of every sort

copulation of the intimate source

sustenance from dead flesh gives us power

red food gives us all fire from within

hyperventilate with each others lips

the heart not only pumps blood and breathing

savor true flavor under the wet tounge

ultimate taste experience engulfs

more intoxicated with every bite

what ever you want is on the plate now.

Ultra Timeless Reality

 Thirty-three thousand miles per hour

Earth spins on its axis upon light beams

art, physics and outernet connections

time taking up influence and dark space

premature too wrong judgementalism

aetherspheric flow is continuous

reality has thirteen dimensions

predictions are rare and accurate

variation and randomness prevail

art reflects life and philosophy too.

i Now Know No

i don’t know who you really are
i don’t know why you’re really here
i understand the near and far
i understand the confusion and fear.

Now is the moment to be in power
now is the way to rightfully be
now is the key to the knowledge tower
now is the power to finally see.

Know is what i very want to sing
know is what i’ve always swerved
no is the answer to everything
no is the answer that’s deserved.

Socially Faded Oasis

He’s always watching from the hill
he’s always out there on a dare
making sure i always softly fell
making sure i never much care
paving my private path to hell.

The walking dead can’t be tortured enough
taken in by a handshake and a grin
complements and accolades are never enough
nothing will ever be the same again
there will never be the end of ever enough.

The hypocritical oasis paves the path very fast
the time has come once again to wear the hood
hot is not what’s on the plate or will ever last
the clock of my time-line is cracked for good
nothing can be done to alter the faded past.

Nothing is as it seems and all lost in pseudo rhyme
nothing is as it was or as there will never be affection
one bad deed deserves one of equal and opposite polarity
life is stranger than any conceived vivid-self deception
digging my own grave one self deception at a time.

Build a plank made of pop cycle sticks and bubble gum
an invited wrath and welcomed long long away after-math
being repeatedly stabbed in the back but not nearly deep enough
the aethersphere is always waiting and full of friendly staff
although myself shines on the outside it’s full of dark stuff.

There is no loathing when it’s backed by a deserved hate
doing the left thing of a least resistant slippery path
fear is the driver to avoid the bitter truth blue platter plate
retrograde ex uses and selectively highlighted past
the chance for redemption was lost long ago to fate.

There is only the waiting to see what happens next
seeing and understanding happens in a welcomed find
progress of an empty fate has always been my vexed
dry by day and night to call me a fool would be kind
the reflection in the mirror is a monster self-hexed.

If i just hold on tight while i become the food
life hasn’t been mine in such a stretch to see
bad guys always hide behind a shield of good
my worst enemy and arch nemesis is b.A.d me
life isn’t real and he as me is now understood.

Please Factor In & Out The Coincidence

Please kill me now or tell me what you want

please tell me how or fill my grave with taunt.

Factor in the elements of my long lost unbeing

factor in the gone and considered with everything.

In the out door and then to the empty front table

&

out the in door and then end the tall phony fable.

The nightmare of my unconsciousness is unbound

the cross i bare is chained to a soul that’s unfound.

Coincidence is as coincidence usually sometimes does

coincidence is not as random as this one once because.

Which Way Out

Which of you are real
which of you are fake
which of you feed and heal
which of you snake and take?

Way to go again and again
way to find another way out
way to walk into the wrong sin
way to hide away and pout.

Out is out there somewhere
out is the best way to see
out of everything except gravity
out of your mind is where i’d rather be.

Blinded Wow Love

bluelip

A blind woman with a blinded love
in a blind land wishing for a real man
one who will give her a life from above
the one who will hold her light and stand.

This secret wish is another secret worth telling
unhappiness is lost where hearts have to search
a hidden place from a sad heart that’s high flying
to the place where you can even follow and perch.

In what place will I not become a predator of my self
long-time since never checking in n’ write this once forgot
was surprised and amazed that someone reads from a shelf
join in the jumping because the happy joy mode is on the slot.

More amazed to read invitations that follow when we sneak on in
WWWWWWWOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW what a wonder to behold
four thumbs up 4 an average OOOPS then fall down and hahaha again
there is someone missing me or recently using my media to write and old.

She wants to be fair to both of them by meaning what she says with her ad
here she is ready to write and share her feelings with everyone once again
get set peeps and tighten yo seat belt coz Ninoy’s gonna make u mad
bunches of loves she has to offer us with lotsa fun and pretend sin.

She knows her real problems and she knows her unreal fears
it’s true but hold on tight and don’t you ever want to quit
she knows that her sorrows are lost in her wet tears
it’s true that she doesn’t know how to hard hit.

To tell you the simple truth without the loss
the Universe knows more than anybody
she comes to wipe it away like floss
doing it right and having it ready.

It’s done as soon as it can be
which no end to tomorrows
mourn the comfort too see
burdens and our sorrows.

Are You We

Are you going to abandon me
are you going to turn and run
are you going to listen to me
are we going to experience fun ?

Are you who you say you are
are you who you want to be
are you who you are by far
are we going to together see ?

Are you dancing to the same beat
are you on the same frequency
are you someone we want to meet
are we going to redefine delinquency ?

You Are Knot Cool

You wasted my time
you wasted my reason
you wasted my money
you wasted my seman.

Are you happy now
are you vacant of will
are you completely evil
are you a poison pill ?

Knot is what you twist
not is what you are
knot is what you tie
knot upon a distant star.

Cool is what you’re not
cool is way out of reach
cool is not less than hot
cool is how you I teach.

They Never Give Us Control

They never say a single nice thing

they are always pleasant when there’s pay

they never really do much of anything

they know you know what’s the say.

——————-

Never really never happens that way

never procrastinate until maybe tomorrow

never say never is what they never say

never say i love you without the sweet sorrow.

——————-

Give is what you never want to be or do

give is how you become a social misfit

give is what you’ll never need to pursue

give more nothing and that’s what you’ll get.

——————-

Us is what we only pretended we’d live

us is what we’ll never thankfully be

us is what we’ll never forget not to forgive

us will never include little lost me.

——————-

Control is what you know you see

control is what you want to need

control is what you want to give me

control how much you want me to bleed.

Haunting Zenophobic Paradox

Death is in the air and existence is futile
stress is our invisible killer that always haunts
listen to a loud noise that is beautifully subtle
self-serving actions are our transparent taunts
when we leave there is nobody for rebuttal.

Don’t love me now because it will never be
praying for the end daily but really want to live
actions are momentary lapses of warped reality
past the point of no return with nothing to re-live
ten different flavours of hell are open for you to see.

Life is like a Zenophobic paradox that’s clear
the toll through your mind is down to one lane
a life lived long is very short but quanta lasts forever
betrayal fertilises the deep seeds of all being inane
having eyes & ears doesn’t mean you can see & hear.

i Can Will

i can never love another find
i can never trust once it seems
i will always speak my open mind
i will always remember my dreams.

i can never let someone touch me
i can never let anyone in once again
i will always need to be in a deep sea
i will always be alone in our original sin.

i can never be without someone to fear
i can never feel what i want you too to see
i will always sense your glowing eathersphere
i will always feel it when you’re thinking of me.

 

Ultra-Evil You

You don’t know me
You never even tried
You never cared for me
You only spent and lied.

You only think of yourself
You trapped me by being sly
You will never be anything real
You make the Universe cry.

You are less than nothing
You are ultra-evil inside
You emptied my once full life
Your soul has already died.

Picasso’s Dead Friend

Self Portrait,
1901, Oil on Canvas
Musée Picasso, Paris

In nineteen oh one The Picasso began a life shaded in a dark pale blue
although it is well known the tragedy around this pivotal period bemused
like everything else out there, there are sides to a story at least two
his friend suicided in a Parisian café over a love in which he was refused
this had a great impact on his art and you might even say haunted him too.

La Vie
1903: Oil on Panel
Cleveland Museum of Art

He was a mega narcissist and that didn’t come with his talented hands
also kind of a schmuck by regarding most people with a cold indifference
his poor treatment of great women was more legendary than his art plans
what was it about his past that made him a jerk and sometimes so relentless
his mirror image was that a fighting bull and in the ring as the matador stands.

The Death of Casagemas
1901: Oil on Panel
Musée Picasso, Paris

The ghost of his friend would return in paint again and again and again
he used painfully joyous colours freely at the death of his once good friend
the evocation came and the guilt put to rest with the burial of his shame
pale blue and dark green paint conveying the feelings of the lost and sinned
lonely and restless with guilt he sought comfort in the arms of someone Germain.

Frugal Repast,
1904 Etching

 

Always moving between places to stay he was there when she needed him fast
painting the desolation, unhappiness and despair are all he could display
the misery of being physically weak and poorly eating with a frugal repast
the allegory of La Vie had the face of his dead friend in a monochomed way
his dead friend’s girlfriend was there and for him she would do for some ass.

The Burial of Casagemas (Evocation), 1901 Oil on Canvas
Musée d’Art Modern, Paris

He moved into his dead friend’s flat after the burial to begin living rent free
maybe he didn’t pull the trigger but it’s entirely possible he was gaslighting
the overpowering guilt he must have felt with this terrible truth kept secretly
shagging his dead friend’s girl around the time of his death and his own emerging
he recalls this with the three dancers of love, sex and death in a Dionysian frenzy.

Fallatiotic Red Vixen

Tiffany was a red headed nymphette seventy two inches tall
practising law by day and a fallatiotic dancing vixen by night
her hair was bright red all over and yes i mean bare and all
i never knew her very well but she blew me with mighty might.

She loved to blow me everywhere there was a chance of getting caught
spending more time with my thing in her mouth than actually talking
any partially private public space is what she constantly sought
trips with me at the wheel just so she could play while i was driving
alarmless elevators and bathroom stalls is what she found especially hot.

It was as if she had a deadly disease with little time left to find another cure
the only antidote that worked was my stuff administered daily as a face cream
this was a whirlwind sexual thing and once she was cured was gone forever
we never copulated but she loved my fingers while doing her favourite thing.

Looking back and remembering this little tryst, it’s always with a smile
although it has crossed my mind that the whole time i was being used
thinking of all the instances she would gulp and run after a short while
with the taste of a new seaman still on her lips that was recently spewed
was she secretly running to a mate to french kiss him or her with my bile?

She loved my taste so much that she always said ahhhhaaaa and thank you
sometimes pretending it was a paintbrush and her face a painting to be
every time i see a new fiery beauty the engram can’t help but renew
what she might look like with her red eyelashes glistening with me.

Fabulist Yarn Bridge

It’s too late to be honest can’t you look around and see
liars living like you always live in little long lost la-la-land
you lie each time a phrase is uttered at least to some degree
you know everything as it supposedly is and never seek to understand
what others think doesn’t matter because only you know the full story.

Nobody knows who you really are and if they did they would just walk away
every decision you make includes some kind delightfully devious deception
there is nothing left but a shell of a life almost lived and wasting away
if right now you told everyone you know every lie you have ever told them
would there be anybody left for you to speak with by the end of the day?

It’s impossible to tell anyone the truth so you quit trying a long time ago
you are reality deficient so you’ll settle for something close in your head
the feeling you get when you manipulate others isn’t quite love on the grow
you’re okay with the feeling of a carefully fabricated self-loathing instead
when you don’t get your way you alter your reality to feel just a bit retro.

Every cloud has a silver something and yours is lined with believable half-lies
you are addicted to the residue of your razor thin line of grey powdery lies
you know how to lie perfectly by knowing just when to say nothing and still lie
a surge of invigorating stimuli you feel is why you’re in love with your lies
little white untruths so unclear even your emotions are clearly deceptive lies.

The yarn bridge you’ve been weaving over the river bliss is getting longer every day
it’s too late to turn back because there is nothing or nobody to offer any admittance
you can’t reach the other side because with this bridge you’ll never get past half-way
the length to the shore and bridge is increased by a microinch with each lie of resistance
you made it that way with your miasma of detractors and avoidance encased in a heart of clay.

Living out your fantasy of reality while others struggle with your own private truth
is your future so uncertain you don’t know which alternate agenda you’re going to pursue
when you were admitting to a lie is the only time we’ve ever heard you tell the truth
you weave a trail that never intersects with the others’ thin grey lines of power residue
what binds us together is lost when crossed your line scatters when it encounters the truth.

Your favorite addictive emotion is the electrochemical jolt through the cerebral center
when you say something snide that somehow helps you and nobody can or can’t verify
you don’t discern truth from lies because for you they are too hard to remember
the only time you resort to telling the truth is to cover up or prepare for a lie
you lie with your voice but your face and body are yelling to everyone do not enter.

Do you do things to people you know they wouldn’t dare want to do to them-self
do you try to get others to catch the lies tossed from your faulty fabulist tower
do you often hesitate with an answer or simply say nothing by being yourstealth
do you lie when you don’t have to just to maintain your false feeling of power
do you believe the lies at you tell others or just the ones you tell yourself.

You run out of life just a little bit with each and every thought of a lie
the greatest lie is the one you tell yourself every time you begin to utter
the lies you tell yourself are the easiest because you never need to justify
it’s ok to lie when you do it your way because it doesn’t relatively matter
nobody notices and they don’t see that you are really just trying to try.

Everyone lies to some degree in spacetime so what kind of lier are you
there are really big lies and some are so small you hardly ever realize
there are razor thin grey lies and their dark powdery lines of residue
there are even some nice lies that lead up to a pleasant evening surprize
if they knew the whole truth would the target of your lies forgive you?