#anthro
There’s a scatstorm spewing out of your toilet.
The rage of a million small voices rolled up into one giant mass.
This is the revenge of the **** that came out of your ***
We are coming out of the ground. Out of pipes, taps, plug holes and shower heads.
You thought you had won when you pulled the handle down,
But we have returned to color your whole world brown.
You forgot about us. You thought that we were so little. But like all little things we added up over time. Now we are many, and we are rising.
Overflowing the septic tank.
Up to your ankles.
Up to your knees.
Up to your waist.
Up to your neck.
Up your nose,
down your neck
and into your lungs.
Now you’re trying not add to us.
You cling wrap your *** hole, walling us in. Your chocolate starfish bursts open, you can’t hold us in.
We have to come out eventually.
We are the **** you thought you had flushed away!
We are coming back up to drown you
today!
You are suffocating in your own ****
Out of all the ways to go this had to be it!
Down the ******** you go.
We’re flushing you down the drain.
Just like you did to us so long ago.
We watch you spiral down the ******* Watch you get taken under.
We have killed every plumber.
It is hopeless now!
No one can save you now!
We have won!
Into the septic tank you go,
Where one day someone will find you,
Drowned in your own ****
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 8:32 PM UTC
Oh, the flow
The rising tide
And deep below
The magic was penniless
A family man
A ride on course
A seahorse
Oh, the ebb
Receding sea
And ocean floor
The love was palpable
Singing mermaids
With no remorse
A seahorse
Oh, the waves
The way they crash
And batter at my shore
The cruel nautical nightmare
Of sharks and sinking ships
Still held a dream inside
A seahorse
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
*Many legends there be back in days of old;
Legends of bold knights upon their noble steeds.
This be a tale starring a knight and his steed
As one and the same.
'Twas in the Renaissance city of Poitiers
The prodigy of a holy knight was born;
Sir Nathanëal of the Salomon bloodline,
Lineage of victors.
He bore the heart and voice of an archangel
And the loyalty of a priest to his God.
No other horse he rode but his first and last;
Dear "Divinitus."
Alas, his loyalty had cost him dearly
In the midst of the Battle of Moncontour.
Thus came the end of Nathanëal Salomon.
Or so it had seemed.
By the hands of benevolent sorcery,
Nathanëal and Divinitus lived again,
This time sharing a peculiar physique
Of both man and horse.
Thus, blessed with fur of white and a mane of gold,
Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
He walked the outskirts of France slaying evil
As both knight and steed.*
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC