The sport of killing. Hanging by hook and 1,000lb test Predator vs. predator To turn these waters red The sharks go berserk They circle the boat We hide with machetes and knives Ambush and cut their throats Chopped up. Chunks. Cuts. Frozen in buckets of blood With my trusty machete I carve the parts to summon the sharks Lurking around the jetty In a frenzy they're circling, their incisors ready To masticate and to munch These things you call humans but we call it lunch They smell it from miles away I stand at the dock now a butchering block Smashing. Hacking. Laughing. We carry a payload Chopped torsos, heads and limbs Ground into a mulch Frozen and chummified Intestines. Fresh organs Left on the dock, reeking, cokked by the sun So pungent Disturbing. Vomiting induced an mixed with the chyme. This is blood. Not ashes. No mourning. No love. Sharks go berserk when the blood starts to spurt from the stern to the bow human chum is thrown out They never thought this would be the way they'd eventually die. Shredded into bite-sized pieces - a human goresicle. Knee-deep in intestines, gray soupy mixture resembling chyme. Sloshing heaps mobilized by waves distributing the piles. Granulized. Homocide. Chummified.