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Shortage of Breath

The dream of Thomas still clings to the edges of my consciousness, a vivid haunting that left me gasping for air the moment I broke the surface of sleep. While lost in that subconscious encounter, my breathing grew shallow and frantic, mimicking the tiny, staccato inhalations of a mouse as if my lungs had suddenly lost their capacity for depth.  The air became a scarce luxury I couldn't quite reach within the confines of the dream, and the suffocating pressure of those minute, rapid breaths eventually forced my eyes open in a desperate bid for survival. Now, I am left in the quiet dark, my chest heaving to reclaim the oxygen I lost, while the memory of Thomas lingers in the heavy, still air of the room.
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Enter a Room of Wankers

Enter a Room of Wankers

Enter a room of wankers, a curious sight
Fourteen of them fapping, with all their might
In came a servant, with a dirty grin
And swept them all up in a pile within

He emptied the chamberpot right over their heads
And drowned the masturbators in a mess of dread
Out they poured, slithering on the floor
A puddle of semen, a room in a sore

The first wanker up, he wiped his gooey face
And said "Let's fap somewhere else, what a dismal place!"
They all agreed, right quick as can be
And fled the room, praying they'd be free

So if you're feeling the urge, don't go astray
Into a room of wankers, or you might end up in disarray
Find a private spot, or you'll end up a sight
In a room full of wankers, with their spunk in the light!




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