Week 10: 7. Vulgar (4-1) vs. 8. Split Eight (1-2) \\ Split Eight wins 4-3

Split · 05-02-2014, 04:32 PM

Billerica's shallow-breathed madonna. A wealth of exposure.
She had delicate shoulders, that were pallid, translucent,
and fell into loose ends, an umbrella of brunette locks-
seldom reclusive or obtrusive at all. A true inner ten.
She meandered through minutia of men, starstruck.
Bruises and red accrued in the grooves of her neck.
Harmless... aloof, when you're tense. Abuse was a stretch.
Freezing as comets, sleeting rain toxins, I'll hold your hair
but the solution ain't death. The fleeting hush between vomits.
She was obsequiously honest. It was becoming.
She was plain and petit. Soft-lipped. With a dusting,
of make-up, Nikki cropped the mistakes quarreled by lovers.
Her constant sorrow was smothered in the drapes of my coat,
she kept her acquaintances close and heralded secrets to few...
like the punches (or rhyme poems), the very things breathed into you.
The Shins as her splint, a traipse into smoke, open, in visceral bliss.
She labored to know the pith of your intimate truths like a quivering kiss,
but turned her own head as the grips of it grew and presented her cheek.
Unrequited chic... the resume of every night's trends, hit into snooze,
you the listening room, and she- silenced for the Xth "and again".
Unfashionably late. When class was engaged, she wore rings
in her eyes, margins drenched, torn with the stinging of dye,
living a lie that's tattooed on your carcass in your studio apartment.
I love Nikki's sister. But my message, so crucial imparted...
For him, love is an appreciative gesture. A withering fortress
to imprison what's gorgeous in a sleep that's unmeasured,
and she the dream that is gardened but never in bloom.
Fear is the heart of man. And you've slept in the room.

She's thinking it over.

05-02-2014, 04:32 PM	#2
Split . Join Date: Aug 2013 Posts: 8,898 Battle Record: 27-22 Rep Power: 85899399	Nikki Billerica's shallow-breathed madonna. A wealth of exposure. She had delicate shoulders, that were pallid, translucent, and fell into loose ends, an umbrella of brunette locks- seldom reclusive or obtrusive at all. A true inner ten. She meandered through minutia of men, starstruck. Bruises and red accrued in the grooves of her neck. Harmless... aloof, when you're tense. Abuse was a stretch. Freezing as comets, sleeting rain toxins, I'll hold your hair but the solution ain't death. The fleeting hush between vomits. She was obsequiously honest. It was becoming. She was plain and petit. Soft-lipped. With a dusting, of make-up, Nikki cropped the mistakes quarreled by lovers. Her constant sorrow was smothered in the drapes of my coat, she kept her acquaintances close and heralded secrets to few... like the punches (or rhyme poems), the very things breathed into you. The Shins as her splint, a traipse into smoke, open, in visceral bliss. She labored to know the pith of your intimate truths like a quivering kiss, but turned her own head as the grips of it grew and presented her cheek. Unrequited chic... the resume of every night's trends, hit into snooze, you the listening room, and she- silenced for the Xth "and again". Unfashionably late. When class was engaged, she wore rings in her eyes, margins drenched, torn with the stinging of dye, living a lie that's tattooed on your carcass in your studio apartment. I love Nikki's sister. But my message, so crucial imparted... For him, love is an appreciative gesture. A withering fortress to imprison what's gorgeous in a sleep that's unmeasured, and she the dream that is gardened but never in bloom. Fear is the heart of man. And you've slept in the room. She's thinking it over. __________________ http://split8.yolasite.com Last edited by Split; 05-02-2014 at 06:23 PM.