I’m so doodoo-depressed. 
Look at these pants I’ve messed. 

And I’m down in the brown dumps. 
Even my deuce sags and slumps. 

The porcelain just takes, there’s no giving. 
This life on the loo is not worth living. 

I go to flush, but the pipes are blocked. 
I’m not surprised by the shiz I concoct. 

And the toilet paper is all used. 
I’ve nothing to wipe what I’ve oozed. 

People say I’ve still got my health… 
But look what comes out my south mouth. 

I don’t even have my poopy-pride. 
So I’m going to commit pooicide. 

When they find me in this wretched state. 
They’ll say it was a deathly defecate. 

Pure Pooetry

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