01-09-2017, 06:03 PM | #1 |
Tsk Tsk
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Week 4: Mr. J v. Coup
Season 7 Verses are due Thursday 1/12 at 11:59 PST. EXT 1/13 11:59 PST Voting ends Sunday 1/15 at 11:59 PST Verses may not exceed 48 lines 0r 650 words Voting on 3 battles is required. If you win and don't vote the requirement you will not receive a victory. If you lose and don't vote the requirement, you will receive a one-week suspension. Topic: Autumnal Canabalism @Mr. J @Coup
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I'm tryna fuck like A-don-is TUPAC SHAKUR |
01-09-2017, 08:13 PM | #2 |
Don't believe the hype
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Charles In Check
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What is public must be legit, fit for average consumption, don't forget. What is private is handled by pirates, prying loose profits from prosthetics. To tell the difference between: first remain unseen with a steady breath and hope, then listen to the cracks in the wall with a stethoscope. |
01-11-2017, 12:58 PM | #3 |
Don't believe the hype
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Autumnal Canabalism
Beyond the known world and south of all knowledge
A small island people live, growing oranges and olives They're an opulent people, holding all force in common All without kings or the symptoms of social problems The cosmos rule here, orders them all out of chaos Pocahontas don't have shit on this people, I promise They're placid and open, grown from ashes of omen Welcome to their home. Welcome to planet ocean This is their story. A torrid sun broils over humans, flora and tropic Salty hues tinges air as people forage and frolic Life goes on, yes. It's awesome in this earth nirvana! Inhabitants are seen: Boys lure otters with chocolate A fish is gutted; a child chops it (eats it with walnuts) Girls gossip in straw huts, "Who has the largest...?" On top of rocks and cliff, men look down to bottom They see ocean sprawl, bonafide and blossomed Electrified like sapphire, the island buzzes with fauna But they spy a problem: the women are gone. Off on a...? Drama? No, it's trauma. The sun regresses. Twilight and purple negate the horizon... Foreign ships wade, waiting. They lay chum for the island Sharks come. Circling and looming, brooding as shoal kings They sense blood. It's moving and oozing down haul beams Meanwhile, upon the cliff tops the men scan the sky more On a ship's deck they see the women tied to ply boards... The night is now glowing. Frantic shadows jostle gasoline Two women burn alive, gasping, thrashing. God-awful heat! Four others hang upside down...hot ashes swirl everywhere A curdle of blood surfaces, as breath draws the heavy air The men continue to observe. A Sovereign with a crown of razor wire draws blade In his cannibal, animal eye he delights she's afraid He inserts and trims off a square of bloody muscle He chews over coffee, reads his map and chuckles All is set. The fleet sails out when sun is over ridge But not yet...the men signal to the boys, "SWIM!" Five thousand leap from rocks, crashing into water Sharks take to the altar. Welcoming to the slaughter One swimmer makes it to the ship, most are eaten alive With one limb he climbs. There's hope in his apple eyes The Sovereign, the Cannibal King greets him the deck He can't believe it, this boy is fist pumping his chest... The cosmos rule here, orders them all out of chaos Pocahontas don't have shit on this people, I promise They're placid and open, grown from ashes of omen Welcome to their home. Welcome to planet ocean
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What is public must be legit, fit for average consumption, don't forget. What is private is handled by pirates, prying loose profits from prosthetics. To tell the difference between: first remain unseen with a steady breath and hope, then listen to the cracks in the wall with a stethoscope. Last edited by Coup; 01-11-2017 at 01:08 PM. Reason: typo |
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