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  1. #1
    Administrator Vlad's Avatar
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    Round 1: Wes Ghost [3] vs. [1] Rude - Wes Ghost has won.



    Welcome to Round 1 of The OnlyOne Writing League!





    Wes Ghost


    VS.


    Rude




    Line Limit: Maximum: 40 Lines/400 words


    [Rules Are Here]


    [Voting Categories Explained]



    TOPIC:







    Please CHECK IN and figure out a topic between yourself and your opponent, preferably within the first 48 hours


    VERSES ARE DUE BY WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 22ND @ 11:59 PM PST


    THERE WILL BE NO EXTENSIONS

    @wes ghost @Rude



    VOTING:

    * Verified Voters will be the only ones voting. You're welcome.
    * They will be doing one or the other of the following methods:


    An in-depth breakdown of each verse

    -or-

    The categorical break down chart

    * Which can be found HERE


    We hope everyone has a great round!

    Good luck!
    Last edited by wes ghost; 11-04-2017 at 09:26 AM.

  2. #2
    sultan of syntax wes ghost's Avatar
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    Check! 1, 3, 2, 4

    Best of luck shnookums!







    r.i.p. jonny & luna
    cloak&dagger


  3. #3
    Maestro of Multis
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    I like 2 and 1 but I'm game for any of them.


  4. #4
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    The Joy of Painting

    Through a critic's eyes, I'm criticized. Still, inside this sharp..
    throe of pain, the flow could take the real Poseidon's heart.
    Losing patience, lucid paintings, I'm psilocybin smart.
    Ruling nations, using ratings to vilify the art.

    Youth engaging, mesmerized.
    Truth is fading, exercise.
    The root is waning, let's devise,
    a route for taking, energized.

    Visualize, trees in the sky free of thistles and the brush,
    hypnotized - leaves when they fly, breeze that whistles when it gusts.
    Sky's as blue as eyes construe, so frivolous it puffed..
    clouds canting right, as canvas white 'fore bristle tips had touched.
    Paper plane, discarded thoughts that signal when it's thrust..
    my mind's as free as pyrus trees, the dissonance is shushed.
    A reflective surface wets the earth an' ripples will irrupt.
    A scene that teaches me of family, no syllabus discussed.

    The blissfulness of innocence, embodiment of joy.
    Each pixel fixed on filaments, the hobbyist employs.
    The stimulants of vividness, an obvious exploit.
    The simple tricks & vigilance, the audience avoid.

    The transient schemes a gambit brings denotes a seize of crowns,
    candid queens and tandem kings, but hope won't be allowed.
    The rampant streams of rapids gleam, are cloaked from these accounts.
    Plants as green as absinthe drinks, evoke the scene around.
    Enchanting dreams of candy means each stroke - serene is found.
    As fancy free as dancing trees that soak between the clouds.

    A man would decorate a backdrop; on the fabric - smeared his pain.
    His hands could get away; a snapshot? .. The magic here? Arranged.
    The colors added to his palette, getting stirred and cast upon.
    While he shares with us techniques, of which he's learned & passed along.
    Creating "little happy trees", this phrase he'd fondly given.
    He "beats the devil out" his instruments then paints a godly vision.

    Each night he takes his brushes, as he falls in his routine,
    to the jar beside the window, soaked in solvent to be cleaned.
    He paints with all his joy, and that - ... you honestly can see.
    While on the inside, he's so weak - merely hobbled by disease.

    Each morning he thanks - it's custom. Every qualm left to redeem,
    coup de grāce - he slides in limbo, deathly calm breaths, rest... relief.
    Last edited by Vlad; 11-28-2017 at 08:58 AM. Reason: fixing typos


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  6. #5
    sultan of syntax wes ghost's Avatar
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    Waste Basket
    +


    She stood there, silent, however open to the echo.
    A proverbial "let go"...she spoke it to her only friend, though
    she never felt ashamed, the mending pain would tell a story...
    An oak, in all it's glory, snoring while it slept throughout her warning.
    "I swear, I never feathered blame, but I hope that he comes for me."

    He swore she never knew his pain, that's why he waned from letters forming..
    "Dear Heather, what's with all the storming? Can't I see you in the morning?"
    Another paper in the trash; that's where he'd stash the love he's pouring..
    But enough about the clouds that rush in every time he's mourning...
    'I'd rather open up a casket to collapse in it -- it stores me.'
    Ignoring all the light inside.
    Though,
    She's right outside, imploring...

    ...Exploring all the things she thinks,
    with inscriptions she scores in the tree:
    --Giving trust is rare, you see--
    Still, she does it sparingly.

    If you look, you'll find things there to read:


    "A hand is a key, please take it from me.
    Please open the omen we swore was the sea.

    Your face is a taste of perfection - it's placed
    With the rest of the wasted intentions we chased.

    The heart isn't free, yet you take it from me.
    These omens fake hopelessness, yet we don't see
    the honesty facing the faces of trees
    we've defaced.
    Life just breaks
    like waves that crash down on me."


    That's why she stays to calm the wake that forms;
    these subtle storms still share their swarm;
    these muddled mumblings that seek reward.
    These befuddled stumblings, to him, ignored.

    Why does she make him feel so torn?
    He's feeling played; a harpsichord.


    (DON'T GIVE UP! WAKE UP!)


    A paper airplane hugs the gusts of wind,
    their rite of passage, she writes to him.
    She's right to fight the plight within.
    A blight of what just must've been...
    Paper,
    from the tree she grew;
    The tree we knew as lust and sin.

    They defined misinterpretation;
    Communication's like what dust had been.


    And so it shows,
    they left all notions near the ocean.
    An iridescent light sprout forth and sang of dying devotion.
    He blamed the motion on the time spent; a weathered assignment..
    It was a brief unfurled sign that she loved blind men.
    Perhaps elementary would more easily define them:


    'He held the love of a woman who left him.
    But she did it because he neglected.
    A man, a boy....one so hopeless and coy, prevented the self from reflection.
    So she stood on the shore they'd protected until her letters would better reflect it.'



    He thought it was proof that he'd not been selected..
    If only he knew,
    the trees that she grew,
    existed because she had let them.

    That's the difference between boys
    and the men they've projected.

    --








    r.i.p. jonny & luna
    cloak&dagger


  7. #6
    Administrator Vlad's Avatar
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    AUDIO VOTE:

    topic consistency/creativity: Wes

    entertainment/style: Tie

    emotion: Wes

    imagery: Rude

    Storytelling Devices: Wes

    Poetic Devices: Wes

    spelling/vocab/grammar: Tie

    flow/pace: Tie

    rhyme scheme: Rude

    VOTE - Wes
    Last edited by Vlad; 11-29-2017 at 02:01 PM. Reason: Switched To YouTube Upload

  8. #7
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    Vote - Rude
    Listen Here https://clyp.it/gaj1ux2d

  9. #8
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    Rude

    Joy of Painting
    Okie dokie ...

    Through a critic's eyes, I'm criticized. Still, inside this sharp..
    throe of pain, the flow could take the real Poseidon's heart.
    Losing patience, lucid paintings, I'm psilocybin smart.
    Ruling nations, using ratings to vilify the art.
    Welp...

    I have no constructive criticism to offer you. Within the realm of topical writing this is about as flawless of an intro as anyone could ever hope to write. Props.

    Youth engaging, mesmerized.
    Truth is fading, exercise.
    The root is waning, let's devise,
    a route for taking, energized
    Tbh, I'm not sure if I completely understand what you're getting at here. To me it seems like the speaker is trying to encourage enthusiasm in regard to the art of painting, but I'm not 100% on that just yet. However, I do know how thoughtful you are when it comes to cohesion. So I have no doubt it will become a lot clearer as I read on.

    OAN

    Your back and forth technique is pure butter.

    Visualize, trees in the sky free of thistles and the brush,
    hypnotized - leaves when they fly, breeze that whistles when it gusts.
    Sky's as blue as eyes construe, so frivolous it puffed..
    clouds canting right, as canvas white 'fore bristle tips had touched.
    Paper plane, discarded thoughts that signal when it's thrust..
    my mind's as free as pyrus trees, the dissonance is shushed.
    A reflective surface wets the earth an' ripples will irrupt.
    A scene that teaches me of family, no syllabus discussed.
    Damn, every single word in this stanza aided to the visual and the overall act of painting. I'm beyond impressed at how you were able to utilize your vocabulary and articulate your imagery via rhyming form. I thought the thistle/brush line said a lot in so few words. I could see the gust of wind being painted on the canvas. The canting/hypnotic clouds was very cool. The trashed art/paper planes added a sense of authenticity to the painting process and the way you likened the construct of a pyrus tree to a free flowing mind was just beautiful and very creative. Like I said, just impressive stuff, Rude, all the way around.

    The blissfulness of innocence, embodiment of joy.
    Each pixel fixed on filaments, the hobbyist employs.
    The stimulants of vividness, an obvious exploit.
    The simple tricks & vigilance, the audience avoid.
    I wanna say "avoid" would read smoother if there had been an 's' added to the end of the word, but maybe that's grammatically incorrect? I'm not sure. In any case you are keeping it extremely consistent in regard to the theme of your topic and your artful vocabulary reads very appropriately.

    The transient schemes a gambit brings denotes a seize of crowns,
    candid queens and tandem kings, but hope won't be allowed.
    The rampant streams of rapids gleam, are cloaked from these accounts.
    Plants as green as absinthe drinks, evoke the scene around.
    Enchanting dreams of candy means each stroke - serene is found.
    As fancy free as dancing trees that soak between the clouds.
    The topic consistency may have wavered just a bit at the beginning of this stanza. I absolutely loved the rhyme scheme, the flow and the overall poetic language, but .... Uuuuuh hmmm wait ... nevermind... I think you're actually discribing the artwork in a somewhat exaggerated manner. Gotcha. Dope imagery and lingo here.

    A man would decorate a backdrop; on the fabric - smeared his pain.
    His hands could get away; a snapshot? .. The magic here? Arranged.
    The colors added to his palette, getting stirred and cast upon.
    While he shares with us techniques, of which he's learned & passed along.
    Creating "little happy trees", this phrase he'd fondly given.
    He "beats the devil out" his instruments then paints a godly vision.

    Each night he takes his brushes, as he falls in his routine,
    to the jar beside the window, soaked in solvent to be cleaned.
    He paints with all his joy, and that - ... you honestly can see.
    While on the inside, he's so weak - merely hobbled by disease.

    Each morning he thanks - it's custom. Every qualm left to redeem,
    coup de grāce - he slides in limbo, deathly calm breaths, rest... relief.
    The last line seems like it's missing a syllable or isn't worded as fluidly as it could be. Everything else is basically flawless and needs no critic -- simply appreciation.

    OAN

    I feel the latest Deadpool trailer may have been the inspiration behind this drop. In any case ...



    R.I.P.

    Overall: This was a phenomenal drop, Rude. Your mechanical execition was god tier. Props.



    wes ghost


    Waste Basket
    +
    Cool beans.

    She stood there, silent, however open to the echo.
    A proverbial "let go"...she spoke it to her only friend, though
    she never felt ashamed, the mending pain would tell a story...
    An oak, in all it's glory, snoring while it slept throughout her warning.
    "I swear, I never feathered blame, but I hope that he comes for me."
    "An oak in all it's glory". Man, the way you phrased that is fuckin epic. I don't know why, but it just is.

    OAN

    I think the intro as a whole was very captivating. The emotion is evident and the narrative has a Shakespearean quality to it. Let's continue.

    He swore she never knew his pain, that's why he waned from letters forming..
    "Dear Heather, what's with all the storming? Can't I see you in the morning?"
    Hahaha nice wording.

    Another paper in the trash; that's where he'd stash the love he's pouring..
    Unfinished love letters. Is it because he can't find the perfect words to say?

    But enough about the clouds that rush in every time he's mourning...
    Tears=rain/pain. Strangely enough what I'm enjoying the most are the words you didn't write . The ones you thought of and hid in between the lines. The words on the page are beautiful no doubt, but ultimately serve as just breadcrumbs leading the reader down the path of subliminal metaphors. Dope stuff, Wes.

    'I'd rather open up a casket to collapse in it -- it stores me.'
    Ignoring all the light inside.
    Though,
    She's right outside, imploring...

    ...Exploring all the things she thinks,
    with inscriptions she scores in the tree:
    --Giving trust is rare, you see--
    Still, she does it sparingly.

    If you look, you'll find things there to read:

    "A hand is a key, please take it from me.
    Please open the omen we swore was the sea.
    The wording, bro. The fucking wording. You're definitely the sultan of syntax frfr.

    Your face is a taste of perfection - it's placed
    With the rest of the wasted intentions we chased.

    The heart isn't free, yet you take it from me.
    These omens fake hopelessness, yet we don't see
    the honesty facing the faces of trees
    we've defaced.
    Life just breaks
    like waves that crash down on me."

    That's why she stays to calm the wake that forms;
    these subtle storms still share their swarm;
    these muddled mumblings that seek reward.
    These befuddled stumblings, to him, ignored.

    Why does she make him feel so torn?
    He's feeling played; a harpsichord.

    (DON'T GIVE UP! WAKE UP!)

    A paper airplane hugs the gusts of wind,
    their rite of passage, she writes to him.
    She's right to fight the plight within.
    A blight of what just must've been...
    Paper,
    from the tree she grew;
    The tree we knew as lust and sin.

    They defined misinterpretation;
    Communication's like what dust had been.
    *Shrugs*

    No critic and no comment.

    And so it shows,
    they left all notions near the ocean.
    An iridescent light sprout forth and sang of dying devotion.
    He blamed the motion on the time spent; a weathered assignment..
    It was a brief unfurled sign that she loved blind men.
    Perhaps elementary would more easily define them:

    'He held the love of a woman who left him.
    But she did it because he neglected.
    A man, a boy....one so hopeless and coy, prevented the self from reflection.
    So she stood on the shore they'd protected until her letters would better reflect it.'

    He thought it was proof that he'd not been selected..
    If only he knew,
    the trees that she grew,
    existed because she had let them.

    That's the difference between boys
    and the men they've projected

    --
    Dope.

    Overall: I apologize in advance for the seemingly lazy feed. In all honesty the only reason it may appear that way is because there was not much to critic or complain about. Like Rude you also wrote a truly phenomenal verse.


    Vote -- Wes

    This is a HOF battle if I ever read one. It literally took me three days just to even vote on it. Both writers are deserving of a 'W' and in all sincerity no one lost here. The reason I picked Wes is because I liked his love-sick ballad just slightly better as a concept than I did Rude's beautiful take on a Bob Ross tribute. In terms of pure poetry and writing mechanics both were about even. I think Rude probably had the more complex scheme, but if flow is the end result than I would say they cancelled each other out in that department. In any case, this is definitely battle of the week. Who wins this bout is going to come down to the reader's preference.

    This was god level stuff you two. Props and. peace.
    Last edited by SELF ACTIVATE; 12-06-2017 at 08:09 AM.

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  11. #9
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    Rude:

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    Through a critic's eyes, I'm criticized. Still, inside this sharp..
    throe of pain, the flow could take the real Poseidon's heart.
    Losing patience, lucid paintings, I'm psilocybin smart.
    Ruling nations, using ratings to vilify the art.
    Really strong start. I like what you did with the same line multis, and the last 2 especially playing into each other flowed really nice.

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    Youth engaging, mesmerized.
    Truth is fading, exercise.
    The root is waning, let's devise,
    a route for taking, energized.
    On the one hand, I really like the whole-line rhymes, but on the other hand the fact that there isn't as much connecting the rhymes makes it lose some of its umph for me. I get why you did it this way for it to be short and emphatic, but for me personally I would have liked to see these lines fleshed out a bit more.

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    Visualize, trees in the sky free of thistles and the brush,
    hypnotized - leaves when they fly, breeze that whistles when it gusts.
    Sky's as blue as eyes construe, so frivolous it puffed..
    clouds canting right, as canvas white 'fore bristle tips had touched.
    Paper plane, discarded thoughts that signal when it's thrust..
    my mind's as free as pyrus trees, the dissonance is shushed.
    A reflective surface wets the earth an' ripples will irrupt.
    A scene that teaches me of family, no syllabus discussed.
    What the actual fuck? This sections is on fire. Not only are the rhymes on point, the picture this is painting in my head is SO vivid. AND I learned a new word (irrupt).

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    The blissfulness of innocence, embodiment of joy.
    Each pixel fixed on filaments, the hobbyist employs.
    The stimulants of vividness, an obvious exploit.
    The simple tricks & vigilance, the audience avoid.
    Another really good section, though for me it didn't finish as strong. The way I read it, exploit didn't fit as well as I had hoped, and I just kept really wanting to say avoids, even though grammatically, you are correct in using avoid. Hmm...pretty minor though

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    The transient schemes a gambit brings denotes a seize of crowns,
    candid queens and tandem kings, but hope won't be allowed.
    The rampant streams of rapids gleam, are cloaked from these accounts.
    Plants as green as absinthe drinks, evoke the scene around.
    Enchanting dreams of candy means each stroke - serene is found.
    As fancy free as dancing trees that soak between the clouds.
    I feel like I'm prancing when I'm reading this part, which is mostly a good thing lol, except when I stumble or get caught up on a word, then I feel like I have to start all over. I really like the idea of the long lines and the complex flows, but imo if I were to go into such a long and complex flow, I would be very hesitant to use more slanted rhymes or tricky wording (for example "detonates a seize of crowns" and "kings/drinks" slipped me up, just because the words could be a mouthful)

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    A man would decorate a backdrop; on the fabric - smeared his pain.
    His hands could get away; a snapshot? .. The magic here? Arranged.
    The colors added to his palette, getting stirred and cast upon.
    While he shares with us techniques, of which he's learned & passed along.
    Creating "little happy trees", this phrase he'd fondly given.
    He "beats the devil out" his instruments then paints a godly vision.
    This bit is really solid. If I haven't said it already, you are really good at assonance, and that is really shines through in this section. Syllabic flow adds so much to a piece imo, and while this part may not have been quite as technical as some of your earlier bars, it flowed super smooth and fit the piece well.

    Quote Originally Posted by Rude View Post
    Each night he takes his brushes, as he falls in his routine,
    to the jar beside the window, soaked in solvent to be cleaned.
    He paints with all his joy, and that - ... you honestly can see.
    While on the inside, he's so weak - merely hobbled by disease.

    Each morning he thanks - it's custom. Every qualm left to redeem,
    coup de grĆ¢ce - he slides in limbo, deathly calm breaths, rest... relief.
    I like that you end the piece by shifting from focusing on the painting to the painter. I think there is a lot of literary power there in bringing the reader a level up to humanize the painter and feel some empathy / relation. Really makes the piece end on a warm note for me. Overall, really loved the piece.

    WESGHOST:

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    She stood there, silent, however open to the echo.
    A proverbial "let go"...she spoke it to her only friend, though
    she never felt ashamed, the mending pain would tell a story...
    An oak, in all it's glory, snoring while it slept throughout her warning.
    "I swear, I never feathered blame, but I hope that he comes for me."
    Damn, I'm glad a tree isn't my only friend. But in all seriousness, the first for lines are great, I love the recurring patterns. However that last line kind of fell flat for me. It is very poetic and has that value in and of itself, but after such a strong literary section, it felt out of place.

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    He swore she never knew his pain, that's why he waned from letters forming..
    "Dear Heather, what's with all the storming? Can't I see you in the morning?"
    Another paper in the trash; that's where he'd stash the love he's pouring..
    But enough about the clouds that rush in every time he's mourning...
    'I'd rather open up a casket to collapse in it -- it stores me.'
    Wow you just took it to the next level. Right off the bat you are jumping out of the painting to the voyeur's perspective, and this creates a really interesting dynamic in the piece.

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post

    Ignoring all the light inside.
    Though,
    She's right outside, imploring...

    ...Exploring all the things she thinks,
    with inscriptions she scores in the tree:
    --Giving trust is rare, you see--
    Still, she does it sparingly.
    This section flows a little bit weird, maybe on purpose. I think the style is cool and you did a pretty good job executing by weaving the rhymes in, but for breaking from a more traditional/followable flow, I would have hoped for "...Exploring all the things she thinks, with inscriptions she scores in the tree" to have been a little bit stronger. It didn't do much for me and made me wonder what this section was trying to achieve.

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    If you look, you'll find things there to read:


    "A hand is a key, please take it from me.
    Please open the omen we swore was the sea.

    Your face is a taste of perfection - it's placed
    With the rest of the wasted intentions we chased.

    The heart isn't free, yet you take it from me.
    These omens fake hopelessness, yet we don't see
    the honesty facing the faces of trees
    we've defaced.
    Life just breaks
    like waves that crash down on me."
    These rhymes are great, I just wonder why you decided to style the last four lines like this? In my mind it totally broke up the flow and made it read choppy when it should have been buttery smooth.

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post

    That's why she stays to calm the wake that forms;
    these subtle storms still share their swarm;
    these muddled mumblings that seek reward.
    These befuddled stumblings, to him, ignored.

    Why does she make him feel so torn?
    He's feeling played; a harpsichord.


    (DON'T GIVE UP! WAKE UP!)
    WOW. This section is pure gold. I got nothing to say, other than that you killed it.

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    A paper airplane hugs the gusts of wind,
    their rite of passage, she writes to him.
    She's right to fight the plight within.
    A blight of what just must've been...
    Wes, you know 3 rights don't make a...uh well I guess that doesn't apply All jokes aside, I'm actually surprised how well this was pulled off. Normally something like this would get super confusing sounding, and it would lose clarity of meaning, but somehow you were able to keep it simple enough that the actual meaning of each word was very evident. Touche.

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    Paper,
    from the tree she grew;
    The tree we knew as lust and sin.

    They defined misinterpretation;
    Communication's like what dust had been.
    Just thinking about how these two people you've described (fail to) interact makes me tingle. Something about the trying to span a void motif here is really captivating

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    And so it shows,
    they left all notions near the ocean.
    An iridescent light sprout forth and sang of dying devotion.

    He blamed the motion on the time spent; a weathered assignment..
    It was a brief unfurled sign that she loved blind men.
    Perhaps elementary would more easily define them:

    'He held the love of a woman who left him.
    But she did it because he neglected.
    A man, a boy....one so hopeless and coy, prevented the self from reflection.
    So she stood on the shore they'd protected until her letters would better reflect it.'
    A little confused here, why are you calling the relationship elementary? It sounds like it is on the contrary rather complicated. Are you using elementary to mean dumb rather than simple?

    Quote Originally Posted by wes ghost View Post
    He thought it was proof that he'd not been selected..
    If only he knew,
    the trees that she grew,
    existed because she had let them.

    That's the difference between boys
    and the men they've projected.
    Nice way to wrap everything up. Man I feel for that sucker, though. To be honest, I am kind of torn on the ending, it is very succinct, which I think is a double edged sword. While you get the power from that, I kind of wish it was a bit more technically complex, to leave me with a wow factor. Maybe that's just me.

    Categories:

    topic consistency/creativity: Wes

    entertainment/style: Wes

    emotion: Wes

    imagery: Rude

    Storytelling Devices: Wes

    Poetic Devices: Rude

    spelling/vocab/grammar: Rude

    flow/pace: Wes

    rhyme scheme: Rude

    Close as hell, but

    VOTE - Wes
    Last edited by Ocktavius; 12-08-2017 at 09:31 PM.

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    Wesley Ghosterson has won. Great battle!

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