Poetry Duel [Watch out for pointy objects]

Letters are funny things
so much like onions.
They come in a papery skin
with a soft flesh inside
begging to be opened up.
But don't you dare cry.
They're only flesh and paper.

Trite observations are like salt and pepper;
You're bitter when served fresh, and
darling, your spice is out of style.
A letter is better than pissing in the snow
And telling the bride in mind, one knee in piss (you stupid git),
"Will you, marry me?"

note: Kamas requested the response to this. Have fun.

salt reminds me what it's like to live without air
or perhaps how to gurgle gasoline.
It cracks between your teeth like lace paper might,
I wouldn't know, I haven't tried.

(words are tempting
when they drip out of your mouth.
If I close my eyes it just smells sweet
and I forget what it looks like)

gasoline got stuck in my heart valves
a couple weeks ago
because they didn't know where to go.

You used to call her Little Lace
her face was white as snow.
But the devil came and went away
and that was long ago.
Perhaps you're old and bitter
Perhaps you don't think anymore
But I know that you killed her;
Little Lace beneath the floor.

The little lace was red, was red, was red.
It was scarlet like her mood, her mood, her mood.
I couldn't help staring at her bed, her bed, her bed.
Because on it was her blood, her blood, her blood.

The knife lay on the ground, the ground, the ground,
And my hand picked it up, picked it up, picked it up,
And I smile, I smile, I smile,
As I stab it into her heart, her heart, her heart.

Why stop, my sweet?
The night is young
No rules to be obeyed.
Though the paper faces grin and flash
she screams at the blade.
Another heart to pocket
another deal is made.
The mood is set to scarlet
at this bloody masquerade.

Sweets! Look how they disappear,
As soon as they reach her lips.
Her little ears lean forward to hear
My ever-wretched tips.

She is but a childling, a child of a child,
Innocent among innocents, a wretched fate.
Her nature is that of one too mild,
Without loss, or suffering, or hate.

But here, look! Her eyes fade,
Her voice whispers, her breaths slow,
And I carry her off, my wish made,
Granted by none but what is called woe.

Bleeding children in the closet;
Bleeding children in the close$;
Bl%%ding childr%n in th% clos%$;
Bl%%ding childr%n in th% clo&%$;
BL%%DINGCHILDR%NINTH%CLO&%$;

All I'm reading is the same old feeling (andit'sdrivingmecrazy),
"oh what a murder is I, I killed this child
with pretty little words" and thinking I'd
be better off with a hard drink.

(^ Lav it Mustard)

--

I think my only mistake would be
leaving blood stains in the carpet.
It's been a long time now
since I tried to scrub them out
with cloth and nails and teeth.

Take it in now won't you,
the human beast.
How it cripples before it stretches out,
the way its arms pop from their joints
the way light fizzes to the touch.

My limbs broke in three places
when the sun went down yesterday
but you know, it's been a while
since my vision blurred
my window painted streaks so gently.


.

That rosy dress I bought for you last tuesday
Is looking grey now on monday, & damn the dance
was called off when the mayor was found
to have murdered his wife sunday, did
you leave that note saturday that you were
cheating on me on wednesday?

It was just right that I put you in a box
of shoes and wrapped in my flesh, so I
could feel your heart on the inside. And your
bright red dress, I licked my lips with lamb chop
bones and acted like a fat kid eating beans,
when I saw how pretty you were drying in the sun.

[if I gross you all out I might win by default : D]

(I can do gross all by myself.)

Observe, the common coffin
Just a box for holding bones.
Filled with empty promises
the body lies alone.
But heaven! cries the common man.
You'll live forever more.
But flesh is but a mortal thing
and fate has time in store.
Flesh will slowly shrivel
and the heart will turn to dust.
Maggots will eat your eyelids
with a feudal hungry lust.
And you brains, once oh so clever
will turn to soupy mud
only to be delivered
to the hungry sub-earth grubs.
Oh, Heaven! Do relieve us
we can't face the truth today:
no matter where the soul goes, our bodies do decay.

(EW. That was gross. I'm leaving...no I'm not! Take that, ye April Fools!)

Her room is a coffin of memories,
In there, she is forever trapped,
In that room, that room of worries,
All her emotions are forever mapped.

When I see her lamp,
It is only to recall her happiness.
But now it is rather damp,
Damp with regrets and sadness.

Her grave is not her coffin,
And it never will be,
For lying here in a box of tin,
Is her dug out body.

(Not as gross as the two of you, but this guy's got some serious issues, so there. )

She had a gentle mouth,
a smile unduplicated,
and her brown eyes turned green
when she cried

My memory of her is clear
and each day a few drops of water
soak in the shabby floorboards
in front of me

My son looks just like her
He has dimples when he smiles
Maybe one day he can be the man
that I never was

Did I love her?
I can never really be sure,
but the little boy that sells newspapers
on the corner says he did

What a sad day, a sad day, a sad day
when they say they don't know who she was.
She was, who she was, what she was,
Who was she?

We wrote songs about her, we called her princess,
we called her lovely, we called her divine, we hounded her,
we savored her, we loved her-

And what did you say? Oh I'm happy,
this old man is happy, you've found love
today. Did I ever tell you about yesterday?

Pretty thing, you're royalty.
Raise your little gloved hands to the sky.
They're silken- more than most can afford.
Or are they just clouds?
It doesn't matter, because at the end of the day
Even the princess can't stop the hounds from taking her away.
Laugh at the clouds while you can-
they're filled with slow poison.