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Pooetry

Fecal Fumes

I just gave birth to a Goliath-sized poop.
But the size is not how lowly I did stoop.

The stink enters my nostrils and erodes my senses.
Vulnerable, I should have put up some mental defences.

I wave my hands in front of my face but it is too late.
The malicious wafting spirit’s stink is far too great.

Like seeking tendrils the fumes weave through my head.
If only I’d flushed it faster, this loaf of brown bread.

These fecal fumes have left a mark upon my brain.
It’s a scar-like skid mark, a brown mental stain.

Such an overwhelming stink without any remorse.
The shit that fuelled it, such a relentless force.

I lose consciousness and fall to the floor.
My mind retreats to a time when I was four.

Paralysed and trapped, the fecal spirit takes hold.
I’m reduced to a vegetable, a piece of shitty mould.

Bodily motor functions are lost and in my final act of life…
Bowels are released and my pants filled with strife.

Pure Pooetry

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