On the porcelain I sit, taking a lazy plop.
It oozes out so slowly, this sorry slop.
A constant drizzle, a thick, sick stream.
Forming a circle of gross chocolate cream.
The pyramid-like pinnacle, breaks off into a flop.

Then another protrudes and repeats the past.
I take note this poo is the opposite of fast.
Sighing, I realise I may be here for a while.
As this lethargic poop does add to the pile.
I then wonder, when will the final lump be cast?