Fountains of Slime

A stench wafts upward from the fountains of slime.
I’m aghast knowing the grotesque aroma is mine.

It’s fluid yet gooey texture gleams in the light.
Ceasing this fecal flow alone is my plight.

I plug the foul source and hope for the best.
But it backfires as the flooding becomes compressed.

This unnatural force of brown cannot be stopped.
So I’ll sit and stare at this mess that I’ve slopped.

Pure Pooetry

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