The Fart

The stench of death is overwhelming,

Soaking into every pore,

Equally daring and compelling,

Something is wrong, it implores.

Rolling to my other side,

Hoping for some release,

Despite this I am cockeyed,

And unable to appease.

For once more I find myself,

Recoiling from the suffocating stench,

The miasma truly overwhelms,

Nevertheless my stomach doth clench.

With a resounding roar,

And with blinding pain,

It escapes once more,

This fart has clouded the room again.