Week 9 - TITLE MATCH - Frank (6-2) vs. Pancakebrah (5-1) - Pancakebrah WINS BY DQ

[Mike Wrecka]

http://i.imgur.com/uAJesXX.png
Season 2

Rules

Verse Due Date - Thursday 23:59 PST

Voting Deadline - Sunday 23:59 PST

Line Limits - 16 - 48 Max can be higher if both agree

Voting - Must vote on 3 battles and post voting links in this thread, preferably all in one post.

If you don't vote on 3 battle you will be given a loss. If you lose by votes and don't vote on other battles you receive a one week suspension.


Topic

http://i.imgur.com/TFJreng.jpg




Good Luck Frank PancakeBrah

[PancakeBrah]

Check

[Frank]

check

3:09 closing time

im here

[Frank]

“Arm circles!” - the instructor motioned with momentum in his arms
With a venomous snarl “Arm Circles!”
He said - propelling his gelatin arms like a skeleton god, stretching, embalmed.
Nike Windbreak breaker jacket dispelling his sweat – as he yells, menacing,
“Lard!”
A fat pudgy character with a mellow soft face - comes closer – with a severing scar,
He’s complains about his heart beat’s, irregular, regular, irregular, tremmoring, jarred.
He clutches his chest, his flesh crawling with cholesterol, diabetic, high blood pressure, a face redder than mars.
He’s tries to catch his breath but the cardiac has arrested him.
He’s already in bars.
Federal state prison; arteries on lock down – apprehended by the cardiovascular disease and its meddling guards.
He’s in jail for killing 10 rival gang members - they look on through terror; bald headed and hard.
Synchronized felons in a yard
Orange windmills
“Arm circles”
The instructor motions with momentum in his arms
..
“Catch this medicine ball” he says hurling 25 pounds of leather - kettling the ball.
It hits a prisoner in the abdomen, tethered and worn; for good measure, dead in the core.
It knocks him backwards. And his spirits flounder inside; all around him, unsettling force.
Meant to absorb.
5 sets. 10 reps of preacher curls and their spirits are cleansed:isometric rewards.

The mass murderer’s killer routine, his release from being depressed.
The executioner spots him as he bangs out 90 years of stress on the guillotine bench
He deadlifts his old self from out of his miseries cave, and makes him deeply repent.
Strongest prisoner in the world and he can’t even hang-clean his regret
You ever been working out somewhere and been convinced you are not alone?
Something breathing down your neck?
Chances are you have been on that rowing machine with an invisible demon,
Barking instructions at you to go faster?

That’s me in a sense.

My name is Damien. And I believe in promoting positive, self-esteem for the rest.
“I have a degree in personal training,” he bends the card – “I’m even the best”
He stomach vacuumed and face pulled, his obliques flexed, squeezing his pecs.
A plank with a twist, into a prowler sprint, he leaped possessed
Me?



I rather exercise my demons instead

[PancakeBrah]

Masks.

It was all a bit less than rose stems with teeth marks.

Alice in August. Disheveled, she lapped through afternoon snifters and flasks.
Vodka would splash on her lips from the glass while perusing her different masks;
there was diffident, crass, flippant, or dismissive with just a smidge of militant acts.
She would flip through her stash, biting her lip in the mirror until it would match
her outfit in the glass. She always picked the maroon lipstick with just a dash of base
since neither seemed to clash with any of her personas’ collective black malaise.
Eclectic, while Flea slapped the bass she pre-gamed with pot in fractioned eighths,
which lead her to machinate on her pitfalls, on her sprawling lack of faith,
how ‘if you don’t stop you don’t withdrawal’, tonight’s party starting just after eight,
and how she tried to recall exactly how her dad touched her clit when she masturbates.
Simply passing the time, this Saturday, recollecting her most prized underachievements,
waiting for the call. Waiting on the last soiree for this summer’s bereavement,
thumbing her attention scars under her sweater when tension calls. Numb to the feeling
as her phone hummed, eventually succumbed to the ringing.

-

Alice is offered. One little tab, a Technicolor sweet tart.
‘Burning the candle at both ends?
Don’t be a sweetheart. After this it’s all wine and rose stems with teeth marks.
Don’t be a drag.’ The party is in its autumn. The once present haze, afloat,
is just a dull sting on the nostrils now. Enough that a nubile would be made to choke
but its secondhand to this apostate crowd. ‘Your nerves are repressive.
Just take it.’ The circle of five are sedated, speaking tripped out cursory lessons
like it’s cursive. “Alice, are you afraid?” said so perversely it’s prescient.
“Of course not.” So she’s handed the acid. Five glares, a moment.
Minutes pass as it's on her tongue. Euphoria bypassed. Its serotonin;
it’s a different kind of numb, it’s bare aloneness,
It’s

http://i.imgur.com/fq3EuO9.jpg?1

‘Alice, in chains. As a carcass, her body of cross thatched lattice,
with synapses aflame. Tossed around, lost, aloft in a dark black madness,
and all that is pain. Where visage’s waft bare boned, unspooling aura
around her raggedy Anne frame, brittle and soft, for humored horror
in a tableau devoid, a broodish noir. It’s a ghoul’s haunted lilt at night,
a thousand screams but her own, with her lips sewn tight
and eyes wide shut. It’s the shuttering creep, the floating touch on her cheek.
Barren nostalgia of her father’s shuffling feet.
It’s kill on sight. Every fear under the sheets brought to light, a fever.
Her soul on ice tethered to the chill of all fright, measured and metered.
It’s the realization of blight. Soaking. The loss of all features,
the muffled “Why?”, wading through ether.’

-

Alice, in bed. Recovering from the path she’d gone, the awkward pause as she left
the party, made up of scoffs and guffaws. What was once halcyon’s now bereft.
Kleenex box at her head. Self-medicated, the induced results that she felt;
hands on her face, and as always she couldn’t find the pulse in her pelt.
Lost in her thought, another road preferably less travelled, taken.
‘These are the cards you were dealt’/ ‘Fuck that, your mind is a playpen’
The masks would bask in battle back and forth, as she’d lay still, lost in time,
with one more mistake, one more mask, to be haunted by.


















































http://i.imgur.com/fq3EuO9.jpg?1

[Frank]

“Arm circles!” - the instructor motioned with momentum in his arms
With a venomous snarl “Arm Circles!”
He said - propelling his gelatin arms like a skeleton god, stretching, embalmed.
Nike Windbreak breaker jacket dispelling his sweat – as he yells, menacing,
“Lard!”
A fat pudgy character with a mellow soft face - comes closer – with a severing scar,
He’s complains about his heart beat’s, irregular, regular, irregular, tremmoring, jarred.
He clutches his chest, his flesh crawling with cholesterol, diabetic, high blood pressure, a face redder than mars.
He’s tries to catch his breath but the cardiac has arrested him.
He’s already in bars.
Federal state prison; arteries on lock down – apprehended by the cardiovascular disease and its meddling guards.
He’s in jail for killing 10 rival gang members - they look on through terror; bald headed and hard.
Synchronized felons in a yard
Orange windmills
“Arm circles”
The instructor motions with momentum in his arms
..
“Catch this medicine ball” he says hurling 25 pounds of leather - kettling the ball.
It hits a prisoner in the abdomen, tethered and worn; for good measure, dead in the core.
It knocks him backwards. And his spirits flounder inside; all around him, unsettling force.
Meant to absorb.
5 sets. 10 reps of preacher curls and their spirits are cleansed:isometric rewards.

The mass murderer’s killer routine, his release from being depressed.
The executioner spots him as he bangs out 90 years of stress on the guillotine bench
He deadlifts his old self from out of his miseries cave, and makes him deeply repent.
Strongest prisoner in the world and he can’t even hang-clean his regret
You ever been working out somewhere and been convinced you are not alone?
Something breathing down your neck?
Chances are you have been on that rowing machine with an invisible demon,
Barking instructions at you to go faster?

That’s me in a sense.

My name is Damien. And I believe in promoting positive, self-esteem for the rest.
“I have a degree in personal training,” he bends the card – “I’m even the best”
He stomach vacuumed and face pulled, his obliques flexed, squeezing his pecs.
A plank with a twist, into a prowler sprint, he leaped possessed
Me?



I rather exercise my demons instead

[Certain]

Frank, what are we going to do with you? I'll put this one in Mike Wrecka's hands.