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Magic, Pooetry

The Shitting of The Damned

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.

Pure Pooetry

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