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This is Garchomp's Poetrydex entry. Enjoy and comment!

FeastsEdit

Teeth small and sharp,
To lacerate, not kill,
Because quick deaths are cheap,
And need no skill.

Because if there's no cut,
No scream, no pain,
Then it's just food,
Not even a game.

You can't outrun me,
'less you can outrun sound,
I create sonic booms-
Good luck gaining ground.

Assertations,
Pleading,
Lacerations,
Bleeding,
Decapitations,
Feeding.

And blood and fear
And sweat galore,
And tears and cries
And more and more.

You can't escape this,
This fucking beast.
If I set my sights,
You are my feast.