A poem
on 25/10/10 14:32 at 2:32 pmI wrote this poem after several weeks of soul-searching. It’s the truest thing I’ve ever written.
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A sound is heard
The walls tremble
A dead, moist stench
His butt’s gamble
Will anyone notice
He asks himself
The recently dead flies
There on the shelf
Exiting the room
He abandons his art
For even Aaron Boto
Cannot stand his farts
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