Fear And Fustian

in a damp, dim lit alley

as the lights flickered and popped

a shadowy figure passed by

as my heart nearly stopped

tracks in the snow, faded

nearly covered completely

the dense fog brewed, weighted

like freshly painted graffiti

i held my breath

still it floated before me

the remnants of death

was all I could foresee

then, he rose up from nothing

in the mist and the grime

his breath huffing and puffing

from the depths, did he climb

his hands reaching for me

and i trembled with fear

from under that old tree

dressed like william shakespeare

and he whispered to me

way down, below his breath

growly and beastly

quoting scenes from macbeth

"fair is foul, and foul is fair:"

"hover through the fog and filthy air."

stuck frozen, i was standing there

a soiled spot in my underwear

"All the perfumes of Arabia"

"will not sweeten this little hand."

i knew he spoke of my uranus

nothing would tame my wayward gland

for when it's dark

and i'm full of fear

i shart a spark

out of my rear

forgive me spirits and wayward ghosts

excuse my flatulent responses

let me live, i've been diagnosed

with sharting when i am defensless