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.