Like a slow-moving snail, my poop started to crown.
Obviously aware that soon it would drown.
It kept its pace and hardly moved.
So I gave it a push to obtain its groove.
The pace changed from snail to machine gunfire.
Along with the song of The Poopoo Choir.
Destruction and gore consumed the entire bowl.
I wondered if my throne would withstand the toll.
The flow was immense and then came the smell.
It was like I’d inhaled a toilet from hell.
I have no words to describe the pain and sorrow.
And I doubt this toilet will be usable tomorrow.
I leave this throne a completely changed man.
Very few survive The Shitting of The Dammed.