Round One: Peter McPuffington vs. Jhene Aiko [Both Advance]

[Adonis]

http://i.imgur.com/nNeQq4Y.gif

Verses will be due Friday at 11:59 p.m. Western / 2:59 Am Eastern / 7:59AM UK. There are no Extensions. No Exceptions.

Verses must be a minimum of 10 Lines and maximum of 48 Lines or 650 words unless agreed upon by both competitors.

Votes will be due Sundays at 11:59 p.m. Western / 2:59 Am Eastern / 7:59AM UK .

View Other Rules Here (http://netcees.co/showthread.php?t=84794)

Goodluck

Peter McPuffington Jhene Aiko


Topic:


http://i58.tinypic.com/11hqc7d.jpg

[Peter McPuffington]

Jhene Aiko

Let's fornicate vigorously and forget each others names.

[Jhene Aiko]

This going to help me write new songs!

[Peter McPuffington]

~Deconstructing Yahweh~





And the first thing he said was.... “Let There Be Light”


Creatures with no home, still they pillage and roam.
Lived on there own with no ruler or throne,
No guidelines to break or disappoints to make.
No anointed charade crucified to hide the evil they crave.
Free from being pets; choke chains round the neck,
On a short leash being monitored and kempt.
This beautiful evil was a glorious thing.
No halos or wings flinging dust with each thrust.
Just darkness that's loved yet, vastly abrupt.

Just Imagine ...

You're you, minus constraints that defuse...
Every natural instinct you developed and used.
That right to think even when you are confused,
That right to eat until the land is consumed.
Yeah right; repel light and accept your own view.
But suddenly, he's telling you not to.

Laws that dilute our vital aspects,
Darkness is abstract.
Evil IS Live yet harnessed til absent.
Ponder this cancer.

We can scale Valhalla reaching new heights.
While Darwin taught us the strongest survive.
God proved his weakness was creating of lives.
Destroying them all, pouring tears from the skies.
Crackling thunder masking screams from each life.
Crashing waves, drowning out pain from inside.
See the mangled and warped souls set adrift?
The endless knocking; each skull tapping the skiff.
The faces of kids, peacefully, swimming about.
Drifting in crowds as they sink I'm so proud.
Return home to that darkness you've shelved.
I waited anxiously, never once had a doubt.
Sat, patiently, holding this apple I found.
You sampled my crown, now it's yours to keep.
The stairway to heaven is forgiving but steep.
Meanwhile my escalator creeps down without fault.
You've done no wrong ever, you only existed.
Your natural beauty is blackened and mystic.
His light is a glorious puzzle encrypted.
I can solve it for you; You are perfect as misfits.
Live happily.
Fuck being a casualty.
If you die and we meet, fuck charity

Because you lived how you were made...carelessly.





.

[Jhene Aiko]

From the moment we cry while gasping for air:
we're set on a path with our ass unaware.
Crafted with parallels and classic affairs;
we grow up walking the grass and the stairs.
Feeling the field and yielding experience:
imaginations expand during meaningless periods.
Life being its dreariest becomes part of the mold
and how pasts are painted is the art of the soul.
Snarky and cold like George Carlin (condoled),
or hearty and wholesome from the start of our growth
we embark on a road. No need explaining the riddle
when the path is more important, and the destination is simple.
Elated a little with the work he candidly will show
as each step allows the personality to grow.
Pertinent talent in his strokes when painting a picture.
Drawing subjects as fiends with heinous conditions,
until watercolor fills their veins as elixirs.
Details so strong in the frame they're breaking the fixtures.
Each step taken is a reflection that colors concrete:
his concepts get monstrous and grow from the plot at his feet.
The older he gets the more innocence is lost to the breeze
and trails of his doodles follow his lead.
Oblivious to the opinionated: It's gospel, god speed.
Without hostility, he's off to succeed;
his beard as his brush and the world is his palette.
His imagination the only thing not malnourished or challenged.
He climbs the stairs to his personal carriage
where he plants his ideas into artwork on the panels.
Merchants will scowl, and sworn vigilance
can be heard coming from the Lord Business',
but that doesn't detain him from drawing more images.
The more risque the location, the more formed interest is.
He lives by a conduct that's rarely meant to please.
The place at the top of the stairs is where the dead'll meet.

His pictures are simply squares he left to be;
and his life, just like that, is a temporary legacy.
Aero Aero the Apex

[King Ra.]

I appreciate you both dropping verses. You both will advance.