He rushes home from school,
To get to the one place he pursues,
Let no one stand in his way,
For what he feels, maybe different this day.
We sit and tease him about the green fog,
And the really bad smell,
Picking about the slimy streaks in the bowl,
Telling him to fight it back with the cleaning brush.
He soon flushes and walks away,
Laughing about our jokes of gagging and wheezing,
Knowing that we have to soon face this room,
The one place we try to dare not go.
For there is no rescue,
No safe haven for you or me,
Just all that’s left over from the boyo,
In the room, where the toilet terror monster emerges….
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