The Charmin Chronicles: Melodious? Interruptions

Pen in hand, I gaze upon the virgin, pristine Charmin scroll,

that awaits in unwritten silence upon this porcelain throne,

this gleaming, timeless sculpture of pure white China bone,

so here I sit so all alone, one meager, humble poet's soul.

*

Furrowed brow, suffering mental constipation

This is the trappings of the monomaniacs

Oh, What I would do for some mental Ex-lax

to loosen up cognitive operation!

*

Within this ceramic palace, seafoam green and oyster white,

my muse, the fragrance of Powder Room Glade,

and these echoing thoughts, I pray not fade,

for my soul is raptured in this mirrored light.

*

Upon this, oh! my solitary throne,

Imaginative glances o'er tile not so sparkly white,

Sickly cracks and curious stains alight

Into twisted figures so familiarly unknown.

*

Mages, elves, and kings before mine eyes

Flash to life as I observe the scene

A birds-eye view of a not-so-sparkly clean

Tiled battlefield of epic size.

*

A cannonade of spells explodes,

As flourescent splashes of living hell,

And with the tolling of dreadful bell,

Came a tide of vampire bats and poison toads.

*

When upon this stinky pot

A gasly pop rings out

Shattering musing and thought

As echoes reverbrate from my gastric shot.

The End

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