Week 13 championship: 1. Frank (9-3) vs. 2. Cereal_Killa (3-1) \\ Cereal_Killa wins 4-1

Cereal_Killa · 05-22-2014, 03:28 AM

Topic: Trouble in Paradise

Décomposition

..
Pick a colour?
It has to be primary
Pick an angle?
It has to be straight
pick a number and then shuffle the paper
Now grab your image to scale our wonderwall of vapours
..

Toffee Apple Tulips in a realm made for simple escape artistry
From transparent to apparent the object is to decorate tarnishing
Whilst the earnest mistakes harvest our wits, wisdom n all that derailed
Brick by brick we build our boundaries on this faint book of nails
With droplets of knowledge/memories/truths and more lies than you can inhale
It drifts like dead wood in the breeze that has been set to sail
Once you let someone in, even without protest they burn
The very fabrics of those dreams you protected since birth
Each person knows how many morals they’re willing to urn
Before their world become theirs
hollowed in another’s river of thirst

.. WE have found ours and it taste like success ..

...

Upon a crystal lake, a small pocketbook by a man named Cich’e rests
Inside such book lies tales of a pendant with an extraordinary depth
Unlike any before this stone shone from soot, forged with sap and sweat
Hung like a dream catcher attached to a spiders web of natural latex
The Gutta Percha’s previous owner had washed it in her ancestors archaea
Like her grandmother before her, and her grandmother
ahh whoo car’es
..
she has a tulip in her hair
It drapes by her neck like a young libertine in bloom; fluent to her very step
Fair skin with a tinge of apricot in her iris, one more shaded then the next
Her shadow whispers in a ministry of music moving to its truest form
Brutish
Coursing a wall of defence, yet the bruises from the war “where never more”
I kiss her shoulder and tell her
You don’t need to fly
..
Her embroided silk taffeta whisks like taffy amongst magenta n’ gold
Outlining her hips through italic goose bumps on a virgin valley untold
As poignant as the sun brushing blush strokes from the breast
Of a chipped statuette
To provoke each blemish in elegance, entwined with her linen bodice
I kiss her hand and tell her
You don’t need a looking glass
..
Existentially a stencil of the mountains she moulded
The bridges she hurdled and the ornament she is holding
Her figure is solid femininity, a fragile symmetry of substance
Satisfied with the tide on her own elliptic plate she romanced
I kiss her wrist and tell her
We will never need a home
..
As the ice begins to crack and melt beneath our feet
i graceful brush back her hair and ask
What is your childhood dream

To be able to float

05-22-2014, 03:28 AM	#2
Cereal_Killa Licking Lily's.. Join Date: Mar 2013 Posts: 706 Battle Record: 11-6 Champed - Art of Writing League Rep Power: 3565733	Topic: Trouble in Paradise Décomposition .. Pick a colour? It has to be primary Pick an angle? It has to be straight pick a number and then shuffle the paper Now grab your image to scale our wonderwall of vapours .. Toffee Apple Tulips in a realm made for simple escape artistry From transparent to apparent the object is to decorate tarnishing Whilst the earnest mistakes harvest our wits, wisdom n all that derailed Brick by brick we build our boundaries on this faint book of nails With droplets of knowledge/memories/truths and more lies than you can inhale It drifts like dead wood in the breeze that has been set to sail Once you let someone in, even without protest they burn The very fabrics of those dreams you protected since birth Each person knows how many morals they’re willing to urn Before their world become theirs hollowed in another’s river of thirst .. WE have found ours and it taste like success .. ... Upon a crystal lake, a small pocketbook by a man named Cich’e rests Inside such book lies tales of a pendant with an extraordinary depth Unlike any before this stone shone from soot, forged with sap and sweat Hung like a dream catcher attached to a spiders web of natural latex The Gutta Percha’s previous owner had washed it in her ancestors archaea Like her grandmother before her, and her grandmother ahh whoo car’es .. she has a tulip in her hair It drapes by her neck like a young libertine in bloom; fluent to her very step Fair skin with a tinge of apricot in her iris, one more shaded then the next Her shadow whispers in a ministry of music moving to its truest form Brutish Coursing a wall of defence, yet the bruises from the war “where never more” I kiss her shoulder and tell her You don’t need to fly .. Her embroided silk taffeta whisks like taffy amongst magenta n’ gold Outlining her hips through italic goose bumps on a virgin valley untold As poignant as the sun brushing blush strokes from the breast Of a chipped statuette To provoke each blemish in elegance, entwined with her linen bodice I kiss her hand and tell her You don’t need a looking glass .. Existentially a stencil of the mountains she moulded The bridges she hurdled and the ornament she is holding Her figure is solid femininity, a fragile symmetry of substance Satisfied with the tide on her own elliptic plate she romanced I kiss her wrist and tell her We will never need a home .. As the ice begins to crack and melt beneath our feet i graceful brush back her hair and ask What is your childhood dream To be able to float __________________ You think YOU'RE sick I shit cough drops .. Last edited by Cereal_Killa; 05-23-2014 at 11:52 PM.