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Pooetry

Last Bog on Earth

The mass within was a terrible waste.
I needed to get it out with all haste.

A warning stench foretold the devastation.
I looked for the nearest dumping station.

Quickly, I planned it’s evacuation.
I had to abort this rancid creation.

My bowels contained this not-so-secure load.
And my gut felt like a lumpy brown toad.

Planting my cheeks, I let the flood gates open wide.
All animals in the neighborhood suddenly cried.

The smoke alarm began blaring so loud.
Vision obscured in a thick brown cloud.

I coughed and spluttered, as too did my anus.
Then I fainted from this shite so heinous.

Awaking in darkness, I discovered my hair had fallen out.
Sampling the air, the fecal fallout still floated about.

The streets were entirely vacant and empty.
All that remained, the smell of old spaghetti.

No signs of life, just piles of brown dust.
My fecal had disintegrated all to a crust.

Pure Pooetry

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