From a Limerick Battle

If we root through your thoughts we should find
mainly empties your brain left behind
when it threw in the towel
and crawled though your bowel
to leak out where the sun never shined.

The limerick battle descended into a role-playing food-fight:

If I let this cold war take it's course
then these vixens will grind me to sauce.
Both Sica and Shera
will realise their error
when I start my "guerilla food force".

For Sica this food fight's far thicker.
The feisty femme flinches - I snicker.
I fling fresh french fries,
as her flailing fist flies
for defense but my fast foods flick quicker.

The limerick battle continued on the food theme, exploring cannibalism and dismemberment. This one from Sica inspired a longer response:

"Then I see a thing that I dread
It's a soggy and very bald head
The dog dragged it in
Virge goes back in the bin
The stink's out so I'm back to bed"

My response (with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe):

'Twas once on a midnight so dreary
as I pondered my eyesight so bleary.
I was buried in dirt
and my broken neck hurt.
Thought I, "This is not very cheery."

From above me I heard a faint scraping
so my mind leapt to thoughts of escaping.
Then the scraping drew near
and my sight became clear
as I stared into maws, red and gaping.

"Nice doggy," I croaked at the muzzle.
It tilted its head at this puzzle:
"a bone that can speak?"
It sniffed at my cheek
and gave an inquisitive nuzzle.

Distinctly I now can remember
that pain as it burnt like an ember.
The rabid mutt bit
(with skill, I'll admit)
its teeth through my large nasal member.

Right at the edge of my vision
I noticed my corporal division.
My corpse was there, only
the shoulders looked lonely
I guess from a cleaver incision.

My newly pierced nose kept on aching
as up to the house we were making.
With each canine bound
in drool I was drowned.
This nightmare held no hope of waking.

From flower-box to window it leapt,
then from sink down to where the cur slept.
Bounced by this pooch-wonder
my nose tore asunder.
I plopped in the sink suds and wept.

The monster realised its mistake.
Its mental bell rang for cheek steak.
So up sprang the mutt
to chew on my nut,
but finally, my lucky break -

A raven, all flustered and flapping,
at one of the windows was tapping.
If ravens are clever
this one lacked endeavour:
it at the closed window was rapping.

The raven of course had been pecking
my corpse, which explained the blood flecking
its claws and its thighs.
Now taste for my eyes
drew it near to the house window-checking.

My grave-raider whelp wasn't smarter
and could be described a slow starter -
forgoing his steak,
decided to make
the raven my unwilling martyr.

When safety was threatened the raven
took flight to the nearest high haven.
It croaked at the hound.
The dumb dog ran round
and snarled at its new prey, so craven.

I knew that my luck had worn thin
when Sica came wandering in.
You see, I'm the tool
of Sica the Cruel.
She slammed me head first in her bin.

Said she, "Virge, my dull zombie slave,
that's just not the way to behave.
Play fair you undead!
When I cut off your head
you're supposed to stay down in your grave."