Magic, Pooetry

The Monster

There’s a monster brewing in my bowel.
Its haunting shrieks begin to growl.

A sudden stab and the movements start.
The monster’s on the move, it signals a shart.

Yet, the first signal is not that bad.
What the monster does next makes me sad.

There is no warning, no time run.
I’m stuck in place, hit with a stun.

At the monsters mercy, I begin to fumble.
My poor anus begins to crumble.

There is no end or safety in sight.
Hopefully, you can survive the monster this night!

Pure Pooetry

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