Throne of Solitude.

My waking hours consumed
Collection calls, stress, depression
No promising leads
Minute by agonizing minute
Uncertain about which way to go
Life at a dead end
Yet I still sit on my throne
My throne of solitude
Noisy farts in its porcelain chamber
I sit on my throne
For a brief excursion
Of a loud explosion
Of gas from my butt

One thought on “Throne of Solitude.

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