I plant this sticky bomb, sneakily and stealthily.
I know I’m guilty, I’ve been eating very unhealthily.

The bomb goes off, the inside bowl is painted brown.
Not a single inch is uncovered by the fecal drown.

I give it a flush but the porcelain won’t come clean.
Now it’s growing mould from this shitty cream.

With the brush I scrub like a man on cocaine.
But the bristles decay as if eaten by acid rain.

I don’t know what was in that bomb, maybe napalm.
But I can tell you the stink has set off the alarm.