Poll: Who will win the final round?
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View poll results: Who will win the final round?
5 71%
2 29%
Voters: 7.
Samuel Adam's October Fest

I drank myself dry in corner
And I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
She was sex, slander, wine, candles,
I’d **** her on the table if she’d let me.
She didn’t like roses, or chocolate,
She was the hard to get or couldn’t get
Her legs were bronze and slender, ass, tits,
But you couldn’t chase only catch.
I asked for another Sam Adams October Fest
And she walked over to me, hips back and forth.
We were in the hotel in ten minutes.
Words weren’t necessary and wouldn’t help me
Cut her open any faster.
I wanted more, I wanted to see everything
And with her last gasp of breath she said,
“I f you didn’t have your eyes you could feel better”
I never felt more before.

The Bridge.
She describes the bridge that spans the nothing,
the sea,
that lies between two countries.
They are at war.
Forever and always,
each fighting to control more of the bridge than the other.
Every battle is so long, so bloody,
they say that it must never happen again.
But it does,
and the soldiers throw their dead off the bridge,
and watch them sink, slowly,
as they disappear into the depths.
Her eyes light up as she talks,
and I have a sudden vision,
of the waters under the bridge filling with corpses,
until the sea is made up only of the dead.
Bodies spill over on to the battlefields,
fill the grey enptiness of no mans land,
and the soldiers have nowhere to lay their fallen.
The wars would be at an end, surely ?
I clear my head with a shake,
look back at her,
and realise that her hands have bridged the sea between us.
A lone cold finger touches my face.
As a representative of said 'Classic Style' you are hereby sentenced to death my starvation in a yellow room!

I vote Yellow, I really do not like pieces about a war written by someone whose never had the experience. So Yellow.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.