Poll: Who Will Be The Tag Team Champions?!?!?!
Poll Options
View poll results: Who Will Be The Tag Team Champions?!?!?!
Team Team #3
6 67%
Team Soggy Bosom Boys
3 33%
Voters: 9.
Blanched in White Oars
Join date: Nov 2004
5,239 IQ
Vote on the overall quality of the two pieces combined, not for which team has your favorite piece, but which team had the better overall two pieces.


Advertencia : No invertir las polaridades. No recargar or arrojar al fuego - pueden explotar o chorrear.

You're leaking out.
Out of your cell, out of your shell, out of yourself.
Didn't expect such a response.
You tidal wave
in a spring pond.

Where will we sit and drink from now on? Where will we skate when winter comes?
You're measurable in kilometers, your smallest breath means acid burn.
This all grows out of proportions, you glycerin, you marathon...

You overloaded little machine
You lopsided energy field
Stimulated and then unleashed
In a sudden and continuous
Cacophonous cataclysm

Unstoppable monologue, that I'm unable to fondle, cuddle.
Leaving nothing but one lone available
Direction : Crematorium

You power source, nonchargeable,
You inverted negative pole.
You small alkaline cylinder
Standing too close to raging fire

Unstoppable loud strident noises. The atmosphere is filled with discontinuous words.
Unstoppable threatening noise. Unstoppable. Harassing noise.

Alright, alright!
I'll make you talk.
Stop flooding out high-pitched answers,
Just refute those fears without falter :
Who what when where and mostly why? How does it feels for one to die?
I want a complete report on
the pros and cons of exploding
Printed on my desk
By Monday morning.


"i am somebody. i am somebody. i am somebody. i am somebody. i am somebody. i am somebody. i am some body"

a monument is constructed in memory of a mundane moon,
in lieu of an aptly delusional dirge;
whose carved-over descriptions would dress the headstone,
as ivy would drape across the ivory-towered mourners,
who repudiate the fact or lie of life after death.

so instead of those words,
they'll fashion a tarnished crucifix
from broken twigs mixed with mud.
face it towards a dust-stained wall,
and claim it's ashamed, or abandoning us all.

while we'd wade through this distraught town,
we'd attempt to embrace the statue-esque crowds
after we've buried ourselves underneath
anything that'd make us feel better.

and the deconstruction of these masses
is overbearing and the heavens fall.
but this funeral is postponed,
as ashen snow dances with the clouds.

and it's something beautiful that we just don't quite understand,
but we'll all rejoice and imagine what life will be like after we finally can.
until then we'll bound ourselves to prayer and attempt to transcend;
the ones who've given up on sleep.
the ones who've given up on each other.
the ones who've given up on themselves.
the ones who've given up only in the end.

but never once before, because there always seemed to be something worth fighting for.
there was always something worse fighting towards.


Team Soggy Bosom Boys

New Year's Revelations

Sitting alone atop a hill, desolate but for the snow that curls and sighs beneath the sled, a boy sits to wonder.

"Who am I? Who is God?"

Brilliant red, fireworks weave and glide above his astonished head, only to come chiming back to Earth. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Sparkling, the luminescence peals.

"God is an abstract artist. Each gentle brushstroke a metaphor for a face He once loved. Paint, to color and splatter upon His canvas, Earth, He will flick from his index finger and thumb."

Gently kissing, the leaves livens the boy’s ears. Crunching of the snow echoes in his vacant mind like words. He will mimic with lips and tongue, yet can't imagine why the same meaning evades his diction.

"God was a poet. He laid the breeze with letters, set heartbeats to the cadence of His voice, planted rainforests for simple inspiration. He will sing to untrained ears, to be recorded by a few, not the smartest, not the strongest, not the fastest, but the most human."

Answers come and go between page and fingertips, yet the boy is unsatisfied, unfulfilled. He knows the meaning of life, but still looks for more. He longs to hear, to feel, to see...

"So God created man in His image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them."
Genesis 1: 27


The Truth Gets Me No Where [Section 3 of the Story]

^ Click & Read For Bosom Boy's Other Piece.

Last edited by Something_Vague at Jan 3, 2007,
The Hurt Within
Preserving the name...
Join date: Feb 2004
10,564 IQ
Hehe hard decision, both of the second pieces stand out for me. But the bosom boys just sneaks it with the story.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
Alk 3 addict
Join date: Mar 2006
376 IQ
The other two polls are closed... when does this one close?
Quote by Cal UK
Alk hit the nail on the head there.
Alk 3 addict
Join date: Mar 2006
376 IQ
^That's what I'm thinking...
Quote by Cal UK
Alk hit the nail on the head there.