A good story isn't measured by how long it is, but by how long it stays with you.
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Help me! Help me! I implore!
My plea, my cry, please don’t ignore!
In my thoughts and in my brain:
Ponies raging like a train.
I attest they’re sounding, sounding
One request that’s pounding, pounding
Pounding from my head and heart;
Toward my hands, they make their start.
Slowly, slowly, can you hear
That chugging, chugging noise I fear?
“Write us! Write us!” they do cry,
Shout, and holler to the sky.
“Write us! Write us!” Steam and steel
Echoes maddeningly real.
“Write us! Write us!” Fear is growing;
Palms of sweat, under-knowing.
“Write us! Write us!” Faster! Faster!
Who here is the Lord and Master?
“Write us! Write us!” Will is broken.
“Write us! Write us!” Naught is spoken.
Fingers itch, and keyboard clacks
Like the clicking of the tracks.
Beads upon my fettered brow
Call to mind what little now
I have here left, this time I keep.
For my soul I duly weep.
And to the daring, wand’ring eye,
I say to you: Please quickly fly!
Wander here no more, please do;
Wander-else, this cess don’t stew.
You built me up, then broke me down
With what I wear: your misplaced crown.
Colorful you are no more,
Demented train that I abhor.
Your passengers, oh Scootaloo!
Twilight Sparkle. Rainbow, too!
And all the rest, the train does carry
Those my mind, unending, harry,
Following their leader there,
With dark red eyes and smoke-black hair.
With charcoal grin of unearned fame,
I, myself, do drive the train.
Closer, closer I do hear,
Their train, it comes so very near
To where I lay all bound in rope,
Crying, praying with all hope.
But instead they drag me down
With my sin: your misplaced crown.
Hellbound now in sanguine bath,
The train-grill roars my epitaph.