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.